


The Broken Shield

by isaiah18376



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, BAMF Avengers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Mid-Credits Scene, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Post-Credits Scene, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt Steve Rogers, Idiots in Love, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Morons in love, Natasha Feels, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Romanogers Mutual Pining, Romanogers Slow Burn, Slow Burn, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Unrequited Love, romanogers - Freeform, romanogers angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 269,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaiah18376/pseuds/isaiah18376
Summary: The events of Captain America: Civil War left everything broken. The Avengers, Romanogers, Rhodey's spinal column, love, friendship, trust, family - everything was in pieces. In this story, I will try to glue the pieces together. It will mainly be about the process in which Steve and Natasha finally succumb to their feelings for each other.The Broken Shield will pick up somewhere in the middle of Captain America: Civil War. More specifically, it will begin directly after the airport fight scene. This is a Romanogers centered story. From start till the end, readers will see how Steve and Natasha's relationship transform and grow. Their relationship will evolve, slowly, bit by bit, from close friendship into something so much deeper and stronger.This is MAINLY a love story. But singling out one particular genre isn't really my thing. I prefer a mixture of things. Therefore, this story will also have elements of thriller, suspense and adventure.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [castielgurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielgurl/gifts), [mylifeisloki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeisloki/gifts), [myloveiamthespeedofsound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myloveiamthespeedofsound/gifts), [spanglecap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanglecap/gifts), [atlasky (xtlas)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=atlasky+%28xtlas%29), [heyfrenchfreudiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/gifts), [thegraytigress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/gifts), [natxsteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natxsteve/gifts), [ym4yum1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ym4yum1/gifts), [chalantness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/gifts), [NatRogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRogers/gifts), [delilahbardd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delilahbardd/gifts), [LiquidCaliban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidCaliban/gifts), [pleasesayitsnotso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasesayitsnotso/gifts), [spazzgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spazzgirl/gifts), [deathlydauntless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlydauntless/gifts), [mocking_words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocking_words/gifts), [WinterXAssassin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterXAssassin/gifts), [Phoebe_Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_Snow/gifts), [xo_stardust720](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xo_stardust720/gifts), [yanak324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanak324/gifts), [Brenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/gifts), [AcreCalm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcreCalm/gifts), [oceanicspirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanicspirit/gifts), [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/gifts), [AnonMetro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonMetro/gifts), [jsaint34](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsaint34/gifts), [romanogersotp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanogersotp/gifts), [Asoreleks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asoreleks/gifts), [xbecky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbecky/gifts), [copperbadge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/gifts), [eleanor_lavish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/gifts).



> General Notes: 
> 
> First of all, this is my first (and probably my last) attempt in writing my own fiction. My field is in science, and I am used to writing technical report and papers. That being said, I might screw up somewhere because I am not used to the style of fiction writing. Please understand. 
> 
> Secondly, I wrote this because of castielgurl. She was the reason that I even decided to write this. I would also like to dedicate this work to all the Romanogers fanfiction writers out there whose works I have read and re-read again and again with much pleasure. Especially chalantness, thegraytigress, pleasesayitsnotso, spanglecap, mylifeisloki, ym4yum1 (the full list is included in the gift list). It is not possible for me to include the entire list here, and I might occasionally add in people into the list as I remember them. Through this work, I hope to thank, and return the favor to these **awesome and talented** group of writers who had brought so much joy to my life over the years through their fics. Thank you so much guys. And of course, to all the amazing Romanogers shippers and all members of this awesome fandom! This work is for **YOU!!!!**
> 
> Now. Through this work, **MY MAIN OBJECTIVE** is to **SHOW** the whole world how awesome and great Romanogers can be. I want to show the world that Steve and Nat belong together. They can be great together. I want to illustrate that through my story. Hey, we've all seen the movies. And I'm pretty sure that what we've seen thus far was a major disappointment for all Romanogers shippers. It is my goal to remedy that, and at the same time, perhaps increase the size of the ship. Though, my secret wish is to convince someone from Marvel that Romanogers is perfect ***winks***
> 
> DISCLAIMER:  
> I do not own any of the characters. All characters belong to Marvel. This is a non-profit work.  
> There will be a lot of plot twists and scene fillers which diverge from Canon, and those are mine and mine alone. Which means, any faults, if any, are mine and mine alone. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Important Notes (READ THIS):**
> 
>  
> 
> There are a few key points I would like to point out to any readers.  
> 1) I have made a lot of references to previous Marvel Installments (CATWS, CACW, AoU, The Avengers). So if you haven't watched those, please do. It will make reading this story a much more coherent experience.
> 
> 2) All the things in CACW movie, right until the end of the airport scene, did happen in this story. Well, except for one thing though. **The Staron kiss never happened.** Why? Well, if you're asking that question, then I think you're in the wrong fandom. 
> 
> 3) All CACW's scenes will be adapted into this story, right until the airport scene. Then for the events which follow the airport scene, I will make some twists. In other words, there will be some major deviations from the actual movie for the scenes in Siberia and all that. 
> 
> 4) This first chapter is a prologue. That means the 'real' beginning of the story will begin on the NEXT chapter. The prologue is just a sneak peak/preview type thing for the future events in my story. 
> 
> Errr. Okay. I think I have covered most points that I wanted to say. Will add in stuff later if I missed anything. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this story. 
> 
>  
> 
> P/S: Don't keep your hopes up. I am a first timer.
> 
> Isaiah.

_8 months after the events of Captain America: Civil War…_

 

** The Mara Mountain Ranges, Northern Greenland. **

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Deep in the rimy mountain ranges of Greenland, a lone soldier staggered.

The end was near. The soldier could tell; could feel it in his bones as he lugged his feet across endless expanse of verglas. But if he was really lucky, and if he did everything right, it would be  _their_ end instead of his.

Unlike most soldiers, he did not believe in a God. Where he came from, there was no room for the divine. There was only order, and its antithesis, chaos. Order versus chaos. Harmony versus entropy. Two entities, each reigning supreme, but in two opposite ends. Whatever irrational beliefs that he _did_  hold, however, were all bequeathed to Fatalism. He believed in the workings of fate. He believed in destiny in the same way he believed it was the Hand of Fate that had led him here today. He believed in his destiny to fulfill what he was trained and  _made_ for. He believed in the mission. _His_ mission, one that he would accomplish proudly, even though it would be his last.

It was his final march as a soldier.

The cold wind wasn't kind to his face. Savagely, it masticated his skin. Devouring, just like how a million termites would an old tree stump from antiquity.

He couldn’t see straight. Hadn't been able to. Not since that piece of scrap metal came flying out of nowhere and bashed his skull. His head throbbed, as if a sonorous tremor had been simmering in some unidentifiable groove of his brain, waiting for the moment: the moment of eruption, in which it would be held back no longer by the sutures of his skull. His own blood stung his eyes. A small drip slipped past his cracked lips. It tasted like metal. Oxidized haemoglobin.

A wave of nausea stirred at the pit of his stomach. 

His knees hit the icy ground at about the same time his body bent over. His stomach wrenched in a desperate attempt to hurl out its contents.

Nothing came out.

His wheezes turned into dry, hacking coughs before he realized he had a collapsed lung too.

Clutching the energy weapon in his arms, the lone soldier stood up. Once again, he began limping forward, determined as ever. One would think it was loyalty, or perhaps a strong sense of duty, that was fueling his persistence. But he knew that wasn't the whole story. There was fear, too. He feared  _them._  He feared _them,_ catching him, and foiling his plans and his mission. He feared staying out in the open for too long. They would soon find him if he did.

He had to get away.

He had to find cover.

He had to hide.

He increased his pace, ploughing his way through the howling gusts of hyperborean wind.  

One step at a time.

Each step he took would bring him closer to his final mission.

And he would not fail.

Failure wasn’t an option.

Lifting his head, he spotted the foot of Mount Mara just ahead of him. The woods. The frost covered trees. Yes. He was near.

Just a little bit more.

Only a bit more.

 

* * *

 

He reached the edge of the forest, but allowed himself to take a small break against the frozen bark of a tree. He took a deep, ragged breath and felt a rising sharp pain deep within his chest. The collapsed lung definitely needed some tending to. It wouldn't matter though, since he was prepared to die anyway. He ignored the pain and turned his gaze towards the path which he came from, his eyes tracing the cavalcade of his own boot prints.

Then he saw everything.

The fight. The battle. 

The dead bodies of soldiers, pummeled beyond recognition by the Hulk’s fists, some burnt to a crisp by Mjolnir’s lightning.

Further down the path he came from, the silhouette of what used to be their base danced amidst the smog. Their base, their biggest base thus far, once proud and glorious, now reduced to ashes by the Avengers.

There was nothing left.

All their artillery, their men, their experiments, their files too. They were all gone. Destroyed.

All that planning and strategizing, all that painstaking effort invested to create the perfect instruments for _order._

Decades of hard work, obliterated.

What a waste.

Tightening his grip on his energy weapon, the soldier pushed away from the tree.

He had to move. He had to get to higher ground, before the Avengers could spot him.

As he made his way uphill, he eyed the sky above him.

He saw red.

The Scarlet Witch had covered the entire region in a red energy force field. A giant red dome. One touch of the red, and he’d be as good as dead. There was nowhere to run, that much he knew.

But it didn’t matter.

Running was the last thing on his mind.

 

* * *

 

He hurled himself into a nearby shrub the moment he picked up the sound of whirling repulsors somewhere above his head.

He held his breath and lay as still as he possibly could.

The sound of repulsors grew louder by the second.

No. No. No. This wasn’t possible. They couldn’t possibly find him. His special suit would block out any infrared radiation emitted from his body. Nothing could detect his presence, not even Iron Man’s thermal imaging. This couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be.

He sighed in relief when the sound of repulsors slowly petered out. He heard the Hulk’s roar somewhere at a distance. And immediately, he realized what was happening.

The Avengers were regrouping. They were gathering. And just as he had foreseen, they were probably gathering at the ruins of the destroyed base.

He had to move fast.

There was no time to waste, not a second more to lose, not if he was to successfully complete his mission.

He got out of the shrub and ran as fast as his weak legs could carry him. Up the slope, through the frosty woods, towards his destination.

 

* * *

 

He was out of breath when he reached his destination, and the collapsed lung definitely wasn't helping. He settled his back against the massive boulder, trying to catch his breath. Due to adrenaline, he could no longer feel the pain which accompanied his injured body. Perfect. Just what he needed. The less distractions the better. His mission held no room for distractions.

Distractions meant chance of failure.

And failure wasn’t an option.  

Peeking through the sizable crevice of the boulder, he eyed the lower grounds. He could see the destroyed base again. Clearer this time. The smog had cleared away.

He was right.

The Avengers were indeed gathered near the ruins.

Some of them were speaking, some were listening. But none of them the wiser. Now was his chance.

With great effort, he hefted the weapon and slipped it into the gap of the crevice. It took him a minute to finally get the weapon settled in place.

He peered into the weapon’s scope, scouring over his targets.

There were many to choose from. But he was interested in only one.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he pressed the button that he knew would kickstart the weapon's supercharging protocol. The energy weapon hummed to life, giving the soldier a sense of satisfaction.

To the lone soldier, the humming of his weapon meant only one thing.

It meant the beginning of _order._

 

* * *

 

_Weapon charging at 10%._

The soldier shifted the weapon until the crosshair fell onto the target’s torso. Right at the center.

It would be a clean kill. A _necessary_ kill.

_Weapon charging at 19%_

It was then that the lone soldier perceived a particular peculiarity concerning his target.

_Weapon charging at 33%_

Where was the shield? The target didn’t have his shield clipped on his back. Strange.

The lone soldier narrowed his eyes.

That couldn't be right...

Did he have the right target? He knew the target was a shield bearer. So the shield must be somewhere there. It _must_ be.

_Weapon charging at 45%_

He tore his gaze away from the weapon’s viewing scope and took out his binoculars instead. Using the binoculars, he surveilled from afar. His gaze roamed across the field, going from Avenger to Avenger.

That iconic shield had to be there somewhere. It had to be.

He didn’t stop looking until he finally found it.

He smirked.

_Weapon charging at 59%_

The Black Widow had it. The shield was clipped onto the Black Widow’s back.

_Weapon charging at 62%_

The lone soldier dropped the binoculars and returned to his weapon.

_Weapon charging at 70%_

Through his weapon’s viewing scope, the lone soldier further scrutinized his target. His jaw clenched in a strange mixture of anger and admiration.

That, was the same man who had _twice_ defeated HYDRA. And, taking into account the burning wreckages in front of him, _thrice_ would probably be a more fitting figure.

On normal occasions, the lone soldier would have looked upon the man with deep admiration. That man was a lethal weapon. A brilliant commander. And a deadly fighter. What a waste it was, to have to kill such a man. That man could have been HYDRA’s greatest asset, greater than even the Winter Soldier.

That man could have been at the forefronts of HYDRA’s ranks, commanding HYDRA’s great forces.

But no, such idealizations did not exist. Instead of aiding HYDRA, that man had become the bane of HYDRA.

Time and again, that man had been responsible for cutting off HYDRA’s head.

But it mattered not.

Cut off one head, and another shall take its place.

_Weapon charging at 89%_

HYDRA would grow. HYDRA will thrive. Soon, in the near future, HYDRA’s new world order would be formed.

HYDRA would rear a new head.

_Weapon charging at 95%_

The lone soldier settled his finger on the trigger. He pulled in a deep breath, the breath before the kill.

_Weapon charging at 96%_

Three times had the enemy cut off HYDRA’s head.  

_Weapon charging at 97%_

This time, it would be HYDRA’s turn to cut off the enemy’s head.

_Weapon charging at 98%_

And the enemy’s head was the shield wielder. The leader of the Avengers.

_Weapon charging at 99%_

The lone soldier’s mission was now a trigger away.

_Weapon charged. Fire at will._

Before pulling the trigger, the lone soldier whispered.

“Hail HYDRA.”


	2. Take Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the actual beginning of the story.  
> Remember in CACW after the airport fight scene, there was a scene showing Natasha and Tony having a conversation at the compound? Yeah. This chapter picks up from there.

_“Fly, you fools!” – Gandalf Greyhame, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R Tolkien._

 

* * *

 

If she was anywhere near the brink of falling apart, she didn’t show it.

Not yet.

Not when there were still things to be done.

Not when it was now up to her to pick up the broken pieces; to clean up the spilt milk.

She will not fall.

 _Cannot_ fall.

Because if she did, there'd be no one else left to save her friends. To save her family.

Besides, she was  _the_ Natasha Romanoff, a name long since synonymous with the concept of infallibility and control. 

She _defined_ control.

She breathed composure and poise.

She was the Black Widow.

And people could see only what she allowed them to see. 

The Black Widow was a mask. A veil. A cloak which concealed her heart from prying eyes. A heart, which was, right then, a seething cauldron; a brew of fear, trepidation, unease, desperation and vulnerability. It was at the brink of breaking, of pulverization. It was a volcano awaiting eruption.

But it mattered not.

None of it mattered. 

For as long as she was the Black Widow, no one would be the wiser.

She donned her mask thus. Her cloak of indifference. Her safety blanket.

Behind her alter-ego, she would be safe.

Behind her alter-ego, she could hide.

Behind her alter-ego, she could pretend she was okay.

Could pretend as if her world hadn’t just flipped on its axis. As if she hadn’t, just a few hours ago, witnessed her friends, her _family_ , tearing at each other’s throats like a pack of blood-lusting cannibals.

Her mask was up.

And God knows she  _needed_ it. 

**For it was the only shield she had left that remained unbroken.**

Everything else was broken.

 

* * *

The two Avengers stood at the veranda, staring out into the boundless green paddock which encircled the compound. Each engrossed in their own thoughts. Each waging their own war against their own inner demons.

Birds chirped. Recruits marched. Doctors bustled. And the Earth continued its banal rotation, seemingly unperturbed by the weight of recent events. Things appeared routine, as though this was just another ordinary day at the New Avengers’ Facility. Calm. Familiar. _Normal._

Except that it wasn’t. Things weren't 'normal'. Everything had changed, and 'normal' was nothing but a wishful illusion.

The empire had fallen. And so ended the age of heroes. But it was also the mark of a new beginning. A new  _type_ of beginning. A somewhat poetic type. And slightly paradoxical, too. For it was the beginning of an end. An end, from which rose a dangerous possibility that there would be nothing left to salvage among its shattered remnants. Nothing, except for an empty shell of a compound and a half-crippled teammate.

Her mouth opened, in a way that exuded aloofness. She spoke in her usual monotone, the same one that had once eluded the greatest lie detector of all time designed by one of the greatest spies in world.

“Steve’s not gonna stop.”

There was an unsettling calmness in her voice. A flat cadence.

Indifferent. Calm. Detached. Idiosyncratic Black Widow.

To the untrained ear, her words sounded more like a statement of fact: cold; uncaring.

But they both knew better.

They both knew the exact tenor behind her words.

It wasn’t a mere statement of fact.  

It was a plea.

 

* * *

 

Birds twittered over the heads of the two Avengers, saturating the air with an illusion of normalcy. The silence of her companion unnerved her, even more so than her own raging emotions. His unresponsiveness appalled her. It was as if he no longer cared.

She tried again. She felt like she had to.

“If you don’t rein in, then Rhodey’s only gonna to be the best case scenario.”

Her words found their mark this time. Her companion reacted. And she would've given herself a nice pat on the back if it weren't for the sharp accusation thrown right back at her.

“You let them go, Nat.”

The first crack formed on her Black Widow mask. She hadn't thought that possible until now.

She turned, towards her companion, towards the man whom she had gradually come to respect and see as a friend over the years. But something tugged at her chest as she looked at him now. Something akin to incredulity. Or anger. Or disappointment. Or hurt. Pain. Regret. A deep sense of loss. Hopelessness. Resignation.

All of the above.

She frowned.

“We played this _wrong._ ”

Tony bristled, “ _We_?! Boy. It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? Sticks in the DNA.”

The Black Widow mask splintered. Again, she hadn't thought it possible. But she'd been wrong many, _many_ times before. And some of those were fairly recent.

That stung. She would admit that much. A low blow, even if it came from Tony. And for a long, excruciating moment, she found herself stunned into silence. Stupefied by the incredulity of the situation, and by the childish behavior of her companion.

Another winged creature chirped above them. Her cue to fight back. 

“Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for _one GODDAMN_ second?” She seethed.

Perhaps she should’ve seen this coming all along. Should've known that Tony's abandonment of the ways of egotism could exist only in the realm of fiction. Though she had to admit that the realm of fiction didn't sound so bad right now. At least she would've had _some,_ if not all, control over the ending.

It wasn't like she had no plan.

She had one. It was a clear-cut, straight forward plan, if not downright wishful and crackpot. In her mind, she would approach Tony calmly, and then try smoothing things out from there. She had even entertained images of herself finally talking some sense into Tony, and from which it ended up with images of Tony agreeing to help Steve. 

Yep. Stuff of fiction. She realized that now. 

“T’Challa told Ross what you did. So, they’re coming for you.”  

Aw. How sweet of him to actually bother with the heads up.

_Thanks, but no thanks._

“I’m not the one that needs to watch their back.”

Natasha Romanoff turned on her heels.

She walked away. And she did so with dignity, with honor, and with _resolve_.

She didn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

Screw the law. Screw the Accords. Hell, screw her own goddamned personal security. She had to help Steve. She had to, even if she had to do it all on her own. She owed him that, after he'd nothing but pulled her out of that damned rubble in New Jersey. That stubborn and _idiotic_ man had once risked  _his_ life to save  _hers. His_ life, for  _hers._  Captain America's life, for the Black Widow's. Talk about one-sided trade-offs. Which was why she had to do this. She couldn't just sit by and let him throw his life away. She couldn't let him die. Not like this. Not after everything they'd been through together. Not after she had straight out made him that promise years ago: that if it were down to her to save his life, then she would gladly do it a heartbeat. And so help her God it was a promise she intended to keep, even if it was at the cost of her life.

She owed him.  

But first things first, she had to disappear, and fast.

_Hang in there, Steve…_

_Please..._

With every ounce of stealth she could muster, Natasha Romanoff slipped past the facility’s common room and into her personal quarters. It took her merely fifteen minutes to stuff all her on-the-run essentials into a black duffel bag. Being a highly trained spy, she never really needed much anyway. She was trained to obtain whatever she needed from her surroundings, to blend in and to hide in plain sight. Besides, travelling light definitely had its bonuses, considering she was now an international fugitive. Her catsuit, her batons, her Widow’s Bite, a few pieces of casual clothing, a big bundle of cash, two photo frames (each containing artworks which she treasured, Steve had drawn and given them both to her as a gift), a photostatic veil/nano mask, an electronic voice changer, a wig, a couple of fake passports and IDs, a pair of binoculars, a set of special contact lenses, a bunch of burner phones, 2 of her loaded Glock 26 handguns, her hacker’s toolkit and a laptop; those were pretty much the contents of her duffel bag by the time she was done.  

Dumping the bag on the bed, Natasha gathered a deep breath and mentally formulated a plan. She’d obviously need a vehicle. She considered stealing a quinjet, but had quickly decided against it, since they were overly conspicuous (which kinda defeats the whole blending-in idea). It seemed like her only choice left would be her car that was parked in the facility’s garage. Immediately, she fired up her laptop, hacked into the garage’s video surveillance network and replaced the live security feeds with a dummy video (which may or may not be the garage’s security footage from the day before). The dummy video provided her an approximate time window of 8 minutes to get to her car and drive off without being caught on tape. Not exactly a lot of time, but it would do. Without further delays, she grabbed her duffel bag off the bed and stormed towards the exit of her quarters. On the way out, she took out a bogus license plate which she kept hidden in her shoe drawer, and then made a dash for the garage.

 

* * *

 

Natasha’s black Corvette Stingray was parked in its usual spot. A quick visual sweep found the garage to be clear of occupants. _Perfect._ She approached her vehicle, deftly swapped the original license plate with the bogus, destroyed her Corvette’s GPS device, dumped her duffel bag onto the passenger seat and hopped onto the driver’s seat. Once seated, she began working on her disguise. With practiced ease, she successfully donned her special contact lenses, her wig, and her nano mask/photostatic veil, all done in just under a minute. She had first obtained the nano mask years ago, when she impersonated the World Security Councilwoman in order to infiltrate the Triskelion in DC. The nano mask had since then become a necessary part of her spy kit. She did a second visual sweep of the garage to make sure that it was clear before hitting the Corvette's ignition switch. Shortly afterwards, she was speeding away from the New Avengers Facility at 205 miles per hour.

The nano mask had altered her facial features, and with her wig on, she was just another excited blonde on a solo road trip, one who clearly didn’t give a single fuck about getting a speed ticket. Not the best cover, admittedly, though that was all she could pull off given the time constraints she was placed under.

_Espionage 101. Hiding in plain sight. Check._

Ten minutes later, as Natasha took an exit leading from the compound into the main highway, she reached into her duffel bag and grabbed one of her burners. As good as she was in this cloak-and-dagger business, she knew she needed aid, especially in times like this when all her covers were compromised and every single person out there with a badge was looking to incarcerate her. In her mind, she quickly ran through her list of trusted contacts.

_Nick? No. Too busy being dead. Might risk blowing his cover._

_Hill? Works at the Avengers’ facility. With the Accords in action, the government will be watching her every move like a hawk. Better not risk it._

Natasha made a split second decision and dialed a familiar number.

The call connected on the second ring.

“About damn time, Natasha.”

“Phil." Natasha greeted, flicking a quick glance at her rear-view mirror, "How much do you know?”

“Enough to be expecting your call.” Came the terse reply. 

“Laura and the kids, are they safe?” asked Natasha, her voice peppered with tremors and quivers so uncharacteristic of her badass persona.

But instead of a response, Natasha heard a click.

The line went silent.

Natasha frowned and decided she did not like the sound of that, or the lack of sound, for that matter.  

For minutes on end, Natasha drove in silence, her heart pounding rapidly as if matching the pistons of the Corvette's engine. At one point, she swore she could even feel her drumming pulse in her eye sockets. Yet, there wasn't a single sound audible through the receiver. Nothing. Not even the static interference typical of cheap burners. For a moment, Natasha found herself losing the ability to breathe. Her natural instincts, all but abandoned her, as if banished from her physical existence by the sudden barrage of grotesque imagery in her mind. Most of which involved finding Laura in a pool of blood upon her arrival at the farm. Or the kids missing. Or worse, discovering that the farm no longer existed, except in the form of dust and ashes.

Then it hit her; the possible explanation for Coulson having her on hold: to contact his agents. Which would, of course, imply that the farm was now being watched by Coulson's trusted agents. At the thought, the tight knot in Natasha's stomach eased slightly. And for once, she didn't feel the need to regurgitate her lunch. 

In her defense, all this hullabaloo over the potential security risks involving the farm wasn't entirely unwarranted. As a matter of fact, Natasha was pretty sure the government would be zealously digging up every possible intel on Clint as of now, just because they now had a _legit_ excuse to do so. One of the first steps in conducting a manhunt for a missing fugitive is to identify the fugitive's family ties and social background. And naturally, that will involve producing a list of all the places which have a history with the fugitive in order to identify potential locations where the fugitive would likely use as a safe-house. The places of stay of a family member, or even those of a friend, for instance, would _usually_ be the first places to look for. It was only logical. After all, it was what  _she_ would have done if she were hunting for someone. God forbid if by some infinitesimal chance, the government got lucky in their digging and found out about the farm's location. Recipe for a full-blown shit storm, no doubt.  

Then again, Natasha also knew about the humongous efforts Fury had made in order to keep Laura and the kids hidden from the rest of the world. And, well, since it was the work of _Nick Fury,_ then the farm was surely the safest place on planet Earth for any of them right now.

Still.

She had to know. 

She had to know for sure.

_Come on. Come on. Come on._

_Be safe._

_Be safe._

_Please be safe. Please be safe. Please be safe._

The line reconnected with a sharp click.

“They’re fine. My agents have eyes on them.”   

The rhapsodies of relief enwreathed the spy. And Natasha felt the tension leaving her shoulders as her torso crumpled against the driver's seat. It felt like aeons ago since she last breathed. 

“Yeah, that's... that's great.” 

She lied. It wasn't great. It wasn't even close to good. Nothing in this whole mess was. 

“Relax... Natasha. The farm isn’t compromised." A pause, "and I gotta say that's unlikely to happen at this point."

"Let's just hope we can keep it that way..." The spy hesitated, "God help us, Phil, if it all comes down to a firefight..." she trailed off with a sigh.

There was a deep, penetrating silence on both ends as the two agents each mulled over the repercussions of such a scenario - the worst case scenario, in which the bullets start flying. Natasha tried, but failed, to suppress a shudder. And even through the thick silence, she was beyond certain that Coulson had reached a similar conclusion regarding such a scenario: that it _sure as hell_ won't be pretty.  

Natasha cleared her throat. And with that, she reverted back to business mode. Years of her espionage training had made such a transition flawlessly immaculate. 

"That security detail you had on the farm, it's 24-7, right?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"Who are they?" 

"Right now, it's Lance and Morse." A pause, "Melinda will swing by the moment she's available."

Natasha nodded to no one in particular, "Right..." 

After a few beats of silence, Coulson spoke, as if he had sensed Natasha's unspoken doubts.

"I've got the rest of my surveillance squad on standby. Ready to deploy anytime, just in case." 

"For how long?"

"As long as necessary."

"Estimated time frame?"

"I'd say we keep watch until this whole thing with the Accords blows over... but I'm open to suggestions." said Coulson.

Natasha sighed wearily, "I don't know, Phil... isn't it better if we evacuate the place?"

"And send them where?"

"We could..." Natasha shrugged, "get in touch with Nick? Maybe set up another safe house...?" said Natasha unconvincingly.

"Natasha, you do know that the farm pretty much doesn't exist, right?"

"Uh huh..."

"As far as the world is concerned, anyway." Coulson added. 

"So?"

"So the farm's is probably the safest place on Earth right now."

Natasha sighed, "Look, I get that, okay? I just..." She shook her head, "I've got a really bad feeling about all this..."

Coulson released a dark, contemptuous snort. "Don't we all?" He muttered.

Natasha resisted a sudden urge to punch through her windshield. And to scream until her vocal chords erupt.

"Damn it, Phil. This shit is on me." She mumbled. God, she sounded pathetic. 

"Natasha-"

Natasha growled.

 _"_ This is all on me..."

 _"Hey._ " Coulson cut her off in a harsh tone. There was a brief pause. "Nothing's gonna happen, alright? Not on my watch."

"You can't do it all, Phil. You still have other places to be-"

"This is my top priority right now." Coulson cut in once again.

"What about the other Ops?" asked Natasha. 

"I'll delegate." Coulson stated unwaveringly.

"And you're sure that's gonna work out?" asked Natasha skeptically, "Last I checked, the new SHIELD didn't exactly have the longest payroll."

"Like I said, top priority."

Natasha sighed, "Phil, this is Clint's family we're talking here. I'll need more than just vague assurances."

A sharp exhalation blared through the burner handset, betraying Coulson's frustration. The line crackled and sizzled, as if transmitting a deluge. 

"Listen." Coulson spoke with somewhat mind-boggling patience, "You want my help? And you got it. But this is it. This is the best I can do."

"Then _convince_ me, Phil." Natasha growled, "Tell me why I wouldn't be finding a blood bath or a bunch of dead bodies the moment I set foot into the farm."

Natasha knew how panicky she sounded. But she didn't care. Nothing else mattered at that point. She just wanted her family safe. Nobody else was going to get hurt. Nobody was going to die. And she'd be damned if she didn't do everything in her power to make sure of it.  

"There is a Critical Response Team, back at base." Coulson explained, "An elite task force. I'm not gonna give you a list here, but trust me when I say that these guys are among the best agents I have. Some I'd even pulled out of their ongoing ops just for this."

"What's their specialty?"

"Everything." Coulson replied almost instantly, "Surveillance. Extraction. Raids. Hostage rescue. Relocation. Recon. Espionage. You name it. There's a wide range of skill-set on that CRT. I've made sure of it."

The Corvette swerved a little as she avoided a brownish detritus scattered across the road's center. A goop of a cardboard box; dirtied and cruddy. A heap of crumbled mess, not too different from the current state of the Avengers. So much for 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes'. Couldn't even save themselves, much less the world.

Natasha sighed.

"These guys better be good as you say, Phil." Natasha knuckles blanched as she squeezed the wheel in a death grip, "If anything happens to Laura, then I swear to God I'll hunt them down myself and make them pay for not doing their damn jobs."

"If I don't get to them first." Coulson muttered under his breath.

"What about Clint's files? You have anyone working on that?" asked Natasha. 

"Fitz and Simmons have it covered. Been on it since this morning. They're wiping out those files that you leaked onto the Internet two years ago."

"All of them?" asked Natasha skeptically. 

"Only those related to Barton."

"Good."

"Yeah. Those two work pretty damn fast."

“Thanks, Phil. I really appreciate what you've done so far...” Natasha added meekly, her mind still working hard on accepting the fact that there really was nothing more she could do right then other than to put her complete trust in Coulson’s resourcefulness.

"What about Cap?” 

“He’s alive, but I don’t know…”

“He's in trouble?”

Natasha snorted, “Yeah well, he wasn’t when I last saw him. But he might as well be.”

"Why?"

Natasha sighed, "It's a long story." A brief pause, "He's going after some guys."

Coulson waited, clearly sensing that there was much more to the story than what Natasha had let on.

"But he's definitely outnumbered. And outgunned. He's..." Natasha hesitated. She hated this. Hated this  _weakness,_ and that giant, wrecking ball of _emotions,_ hoarding the space between her rib cage. 

"That reckless, suicidal  _idiot._ " She hissed, shaking her head slightly.

Coulson cleared his throat.

“Who’s he after?” 

“If Barnes is right? Five other Winter Soldiers.” replied the redhead. 

“Whoa...wait a minute. _What the hell?”_

“I said Cap’s tracking down 5 Winter Soldiers.” Natasha snapped before forcing herself to calm down. Anger would change nothing after all.

"Not much is known about them." She went on, "But we know for sure that they're like Barnes. Highly-trained assassins."

"Special abilities?"

"Artificially enhanced physiologies. Possibly a variant of the Super Soldier Serum. Like I said, they are the Winter Soldiers." 

“Great. As if one of them didn't nearly destroy DC two years ago… now there’re five of them.” Coulson muttered.

“Yeah. We've been blind. HYDRA had been busy right under our noses, and we didn't even see it.” said Natasha gravely.

Coulson sighed, “Normally I'd say it's time to bring in the Avengers... But now...”

Natasha snorted, “Don’t worry, Phil, I'll make sure you still get your chance.” When she dragged Steve’s star-spangled ass back into Let’s-Talk-Things-Out-Calmly-Like-Adults-Instead-Of-Punching-Each-Other-In-The-Face land. Actually, 'drag' would be putting things mildly. More like kick. Or pummel.   

“ _Jesus._ This is bad, Natasha. _Really_ bad. _Five_ rogue supersoldiers? Come on, man.”

Natasha scoffed, “Can't say I'm surprised, though. This is HYDRA we’re talkin’ here."

“Okay… So, now, what? Cap has gone rogue as well?"

"Yep."

"And he's out on a manhunt for these guys?”

“Yep.”

"What, like, he just... _took off?_ "

"Yep."

"And I don't suppose you know where..."

"We wouldn't be having this conversation now if I did."

Coulson muttered a curse, "You know what? I don't get it. None of this makes sense... Why the hell is he even doing this? With Cap, it's always the endless planning, and the tactics, and the strategies and like, a hundred backup plans or something. But _this?_ This isn't like him."

 _"Clearly_ he'd made his choice, Phil. I've tried talking him out of it, but he just wouldn't back down. Not even for the team's sake." She paused for a breath, and let out a dark chuckle, "Guess this is what happens whenever things involve Barnes..." she said, her words sounding bitter even to her benumbed psyche. 

“Wait a minute." Coulson interjected, "How did he even pull this off? I mean I hate to say this, but there's a big price on his head right now, put out by every single law enforcement agency in the world. Hell, I'm honestly quite surprised he wasn't thrown into solitary confinement the minute they brought him to Berlin." 

“He took off in a quinjet when Tony and I confronted him at the airport. I’d say that was about 3 hours ago.”

"Three hours on a quinjet..." Coulson swore under his breath, "He could be anywhere by now..."

Natasha held her tongue. She had nothing good to say, anyway. Nothing that wouldn't leave an outright mephtic taste in her mouth.

“He’s not alone, is he? Who’s with him?"

“Only Barnes.” Natasha answered grimly.

“Shit.”

Apparently, the atrociousness of the situation had finally dawned in on Coulson.

“What about Stark?”

“Still thinks that Steve’s wrong. Doesn’t believe in Steve’s story either. He thinks that Barnes had manipulated Steve. Look, we can’t count on Stark or any of the others in the compound right now. The only people that we can count on are either, (A) underwater, or apparently, (B) on the run.” Natasha replied wryly.

“Think Barnes can be trusted?” Coulson asked, though his tone held not a single shred of optimism.  

“Cap seemed to trust him.” Natasha sighed into the speaker, “And frankly, given HYDRA’s history, I think those leads that Barnes gave him might turn up something useful. Could even lead us right into HYDRA's nest..."

"But...you think it's a bad idea..."

"No shit." Natasha snorted, "It’s too goddamn risky is what it is. And reckless."

"Why do I get the feeling that there's something else you're not telling me..." said Coulson.

Natasha sighed, "Okay, look. You know that fake UN psychiatrist?"

"Got a name?"

"No."

"He's the one who interrogated Barnes, right?"

"Yeah. But more importantly, he was the real reason Barnes was able to escape the containment cell."

"Wait a minute. That's not what the reports say."

"What. The official report?" Natasha snorted, "Don't bother with that, Phil. They covered it up. I only know ‘cause I was there."

"What did he do?"

"He brought out the Winter Soldier."

"He knows how?" asked Coulson in mild shock.

"All he has to do is get a few words into Barnes head."

Coulson breathed out a curse, "Is he in custody?"

"What, the psychiatrist? Nah."

"Right. Must've used Barnes as a distraction and ran off." A pause, "Any leads on where he's going?"

"Nah..." said Natasha, shaking her head slightly, "Disappeared without a trace. But you can bet your ass that the bastard's gonna be there, wherever Steve's headed to."

"You think the psychiatrist's the one behind all this?"

"That's what Steve believes...and yet he took only Barnes with him." Natasha said bitterly. 

"So much for backup..." Coulson muttered. 

"Worse comes to worst, Barnes gets turned into the Winter Soldier. And Cap will have to go up against six supersoldiers on his own _._ It’s suicide.” Natasha explained, not even bothering to hide the dread in her voice.

Coulson sighed gravely.

“Well, it’s too late to worry about that now, Natasha. We need to calm down, take a breath, and regroup. And try not to worry-"

Natasha released a humorless laugh.

"No, you're right. Let's not worry about anything. We're just gonna sit back, relax, grab our popcorn and watch those jackasses carry Captain America out in a body bag."

Stress management 101 Black Widow style: sarcasm. Check.

" **NO.**  We," Coulson paused for emphasis, "are going to bank on the fact that Rogers knows what he’s doing."

"Reassuring." Natasha muttered.

Stress management 101 Black Widow style: follow-up sarcasm. Check. 

"Look. He's gotta have something up his sleeve if he's willing to take such a big risk, Natasha.” Coulson countered.

And was that  _pride_ she'd just detected in his voice? Natasha fought back a sudden urge to smash her entire face through the Corvette's windscreen. Here she was, worrying herself to death about the welfare of a certain suicidal idiot. And meanwhile, Coulson was over there dancing around in star-spangled pom poms. _Seriously?_ Natasha rolled her eyes. That guy  _never_ quits, does he? Ever the President of the Captain America fan club. Then again, she had to admit that a little optimism wouldn't kill.

“I really hope you're right, Phil. For all of our sakes.”

“What about Cap’s location? Any luck tracing it?” Coulson asked hopefully.

“I know a way, but I need to lay low first. All my covers are blown, and the government’s got eyes everywhere. Plus, I’ll need that old tracking software that I'd written for SHIELD ages ago, oh, and a secure laptop. Actually, I was kinda hoping you could provide me with the tools.” Natasha answered.

“Got a safe-house in mind?”

“Clint’s farm will do. Since it isn’t compromised. Plus, I gotta deliver a message to Laura.” Natasha replied brusquely.

“Alright. Just make sure you’re not followed.”

Another eye roll from the redhead.

“What am I, a rookie?” said Natasha with unmasked exasperation.

Look, she knew that Phil meant well and all, but, _sheesh_ , he could at least have a _little_ faith in her adept in espionage – a skill which she had honed to its absolute zenith by the time she was only 13, mind him.  

“A little friendly warning doesn’t hurt considering the stakes involved here. And you know how important this is, Natasha. That farm top secret. Fury went through great lengths to keep it that way.” Coulson chastised. His tone firm and calm. Fatherly.

_Typical Coulson._

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, watch my six, go on stealth, yada, yada, yada, I think I got it.” Natasha sassed. She had almost added ‘dad’ at the end, but had restrained her sassiness by just a _teeny-weeny_ bit. Not exactly a good idea to piss off her one and only aide after all.

“What else you need?”

Wasting no time, the spy rattled off the items from the mental checklist she had made while she was making a beeline for the garage back at the compound.

“A quinjet capable of stealth mode stocked with weapons and food supply. And I'll need the coordinates of a secure hideout outside the States."

"Capacity?"

"Big enough to accommodate at least 10 people."

"Right."

"I'll also need a SHIELD-issued laptop.”

“Done.”

“Oh, and don’t forget that tracking software I mentioned before.” Natasha added as she maneuvered the Corvette skillfully around the highway traffic.

“Copy that. I’ll make sure it’s included in that laptop you asked for.”

"Thanks, Phil."

"No problem."

The corvette sped past a Black SUV before the road was clear again. Natasha kept her eyes trained on her rearview mirror until the SUV was no longer in sight. 

“Hey, I gotta go now. But can you pull some strings? I need you to throw them off my back, at least for a while.”

"Been doing that for a while now." Coulson replied, "Should be fine as long as you keep your head low."

“Yeah. Okay. Send my love and thanks to your love birds, would you?” Natasha sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by the gratitude she felt towards the two loyal agents who were currently watching over Clint’s farm for threats.   

“Huh?” Coulson paused for a good 2 seconds, “Oh. You mean Lance and Bobbi?”

Natasha smirked. "No. I meant you and Melinda.” She said dryly.

Coulson cleared his throat harshly, or rather, _disapprovingly_.

Oops.

She rolled her eyes, “Of _course_ , I meant Lance and Bobbi.”

“Got it. I’m sure they’d love to hear from you anyway. Anything else you need?”

“Nah. I’m good for now. Thanks again, Phil. I owe you.”

“You’re welcome. Godspeed, Romanoff. Stay safe.”

The call ended with a click.

Natasha chucked the burner phone onto the passenger seat, albeit a little more forcefully than necessary.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as the stress of her situation began catching up to her.  

Her whole world was about to crash, _again._ The people she had come to think of as family were torn apart because of some bureaucratic agenda; the whole goddamn world was trying to put her in jail; her best friend (who also happen to be a devoted husband and a father of three) was incarcerated in a friggin’ underwater container; Steve, the man she lov… _CARED ABOUT_ (sheesh, no idea where that came from… but it definitely _wasn’t_ a Freudian slip. Nope. Definitely wasn’t) was about to take on a squad of 5 _highly trained, physically enhanced_ super soldiers with only _one_ mentally unstable, brainwashed war buddy (who _also_ happen to be _another_ highly trained, physically enhanced assassin _, with_ a freaking _metal arm,_ by the way) as his backup. Oh, yeah. That’s gonna end really,  ** _really_** well. And to pile more shit onto her already ridiculously shitty shit pile of a situation, her misbehaving and devilish inner voice had then and there decided to come out and play.

And boy, do they  _ever_ play nice.

The 'colorful' tauntings of her inner demons had slipped past her mental fortresses before she even knew what hit her.

_“You deserve this life for all the red in your ledger…Natalia…you deserve this…”_

_“Nothing bodes well for anyone associated with you…you exist only to stain your ledger with blood. You’re a born killer, Natalia…”_

_“Your ledger is about to go redder…..if it is even possible for it to be any redder than it already is...”_

_“Everything about you is red, Natalia…Blood red…”_

_“You are dripping with blood, Natalia… every single part of you…”_

_“Black Widow… RED Widow… DROWNING in blood…”_

_“Can you wipe out that much red…?”_

_“This is all your doing, Natalia!”_

_“All their blood is on your hands…”_

_“Steve’s blood is on your hands…”_

_“Your hands…stained…with Captain America’s blood…it will be your greatest sin by far…”_

_“An unforgivable sin…”_

_“You’re a monster…Natalia.”_

_“It’s all your fault, Natalia.”_

_“This is all your doing…”_

_“You let him go without enough backup…”_

_“You led Captain America to his DEATH…you monster…”_

_“The death of Captain America… by YOUR HANDS!!!”_

_“This is MY bargain, you mewling quim!”_

Natasha gasped out loud.

SCREECH!!!

Natasha slammed her foot on the brakes, bringing the Corvette Stingray to an abrupt, smoke-trailing halt.

_Okay. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck!_

_Why now of all times, damn it! I’ve got no time for this shit._

_STOP IT. Please, not NOW._ She chastised herself.

She really needed to pull herself together, Steve needed her, and she couldn’t allow herself to fall apart, not this time. Two sets of beautiful fingers clenched tightly on the Corvette’s leather clad steering wheel. So forceful were the grips that her knuckles turned yellowish-white in hue. She slammed her head against the headrest and took several calming breaths.

 _Block them out. Rationalize. Now you’ve got a chance to clear your ledger, and that’s by helping Steve, trade your life for his if necessary._ Natasha thought to herself as she fought vehemently against her mental demons.

She wondered how many times she had fought this same battle over the years.  

How many times had her mind taunted her to the brink of insanity?

Then again, she supposed she wouldn’t know. Pretty sure she had lost count ever since… ever since… when exactly? Sao Paolo? The children’s hospital? Or was it ever since she killed Drakov’s daughter? God, how could she ever forget the face of that lifeless little girl? That haunted look with a gaping bullet hole between her eyes. That little girl never stood a chance when it all happened, when _the Black Widow_ happened _._

A minute later, upon realizing that parking a _sports car_ in the middle of a _highway_ would probably rouse unnecessary suspicion, Natasha shifted her car in gear and sped off once again.  

_Get a fucking grip, Romanoff. You are a highly trained super spy for heaven’s sake. Keep your emotions in check._

Natasha’s mind crunched away rapidly, matching the engines of the Corvette rev-per-rev as the vehicle picked up speed. How the fuck did everything come to this? Where did it all go wrong? Just a few days ago they were carrying out a mission as usual, _them_ , as a team, _a family._ And now they were _nothing._ Nothing but ashes that were left trailing behind a blazing inferno. Piece by piece her world had collapsed before her own eyes, in series, like a chain of toppling dominoes.  

Something must have triggered this domino effect. What was it?

Grateful to have something to occupy her mind as she drove, Natasha began thinking. Her mind worked furiously. Rationalizing, analyzing, and dissecting every event leading up to this hellhole.

Eventually, Natasha realized in hindsight, that _she_ was really the one who had pushed the first domino after all. This all started because of her. 

Here was how it all happened. It was all due to a hunch that she had about 3 weeks ago…

That night, they were sitting in Steve’s office back at the compound, both her and Steve, pouring over intel. It was one of those frustrating nights where they hit dead ends everywhere until they eventually stumbled upon gold……  

_Captain America leaned back abruptly in the chair and raked his hands through his blonde hair, “Any new sightings on Rumlow?”_

_“Nope. Nothing. No new hits on facial recognition either.” Natasha said after double checking the displays on her tablet._

_“Damn it!” Steve blew out a sigh of frustration, “15 months, Nat. We’ve got the FBI, the CIA and Interpol all putting out BOLOs on him for 15 months now, yet we’re still nowhere close to getting a real location. I mean I know he’s a killer, but I’ve never really pegged him as a ghost until now.”_

_“He’s ex-HYDRA, Steve. Which means he’s good at hiding. After all, they hid themselves within SHIELD for decades without anyone noticing.” Natasha dropped her tablet onto the desk and rubbed her eyes tiredly, “And besides, there’s only so much that facial recognition could do when the subject’s face is acutely damaged.” She managed a wry smile at her Captain._

_“How about this? What if we bring in a few HYDRA rats and let Wanda tap into their minds. Maybe they’d know something. Safehouse locations, rendezvous points. Those are valuable intel we could use to find him. Rumlow might’ve defected from HYDRA, but he still used to be one of them. Who knows, he might have been stealing HYDRA resources for his own use?” Steve ranted._

_She picked up her tablet again, “That’s actually a good idea. But, I don’t think Wanda’s ready to push her powers to that stage yet. Remember that it took her months just to perfect her telekinesis. And the training completely wore her out, Steve. I’m afraid her body couldn’t take it. And plus, we still haven’t fully figured out the side effects her powers might’ve have on her physiology. So, I’m worried that if we push too far, then…”_

_“Yeah. I know. I know. There are risks…”_

_Natasha smiled, “Maybe sometime in the future…I don’t think now’s the right time. As for Rumlow, we’ll find him, Steve. Trust me, he can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, something will draw him out and he’d make a mistake.”_

_Steve nodded while Natasha’s attention returned to her tablet._

_“There’s gotta be something that we’re missing though…” Steve drawled._

_Natasha went silent as she scrolled through some documents on her tablet. Her eyes danced around rapidly as she read._

_Steve watched her._

_“What do we have so far?” Steve prompted._

_“Nothing solid. But I think Interpol compiled a pretty decent report yesterday… Have you read it?” Natasha said without looking up from the screen._

_“You mean the one about some masked terrorist/ illegal arms dealer?”_

_“Yeah. That’s the one.”_

_“I read it. Interpol claimed a 95% match with Rumlow’s physical profile…”_

_“95% is a pretty good figure. FRIDAY even verified the math.” said the spy._

_“I know. But that’s still a long shot, Nat. There’s gotta be hundreds of people all over the world with that same profile. We don’t even know if it’s really him.”_

_Natasha hummed noncommittally, still staring intensely at the document on her tablet, zealously studying the contents displayed on its screen._

_The Captain narrowed his eyes, “You disagree…”_

_Natasha finally looked back up at him, her eyes dead serious, “I think Interpol’s onto something.”_

_Steve’s eyes lit up, “You think it’s him.”_

_“And with good reasons. Check this out.” Natasha waved the tablet in the air, “FRIDAY, can you give us access to the holography for this, please?”_

_“Right away, Miss Romanoff.”_

_The report by Interpol was enlarged and displayed in hologram form. The hologram hovered several inches above Steve’s desk._

_“Okay, Nat. What are we looking for?” Steve sat up straighter._

_“Check out the timing of the masked terrorist’s first appearance. Notice anything strange?”_

_For several seconds, The Captain stared silently at the hologram. Two more seconds ensued until it finally clicked._

_“Hey… Isn’t that around the same time when SHIELD collapsed?”_

_“And also, take a look at this report by the FBI.” Natasha said, passing the tablet over to Steve._

_“This is… wait… this is the report about the assault on the nurse and-”_

_Natasha interjected, “And the death of the FBI agent assigned to watch over Rumlow at the hospital. The feds had planned to take Rumlow into custody the moment he wakes. So they stationed an agent in his room. Big mistake though. Next thing they knew, the agent was found strangled to death, with Rumlow missing. But here’s the interesting part. Take a look at the date of the reported incident.”_

_Understanding dawned on the Captain._

_“Son of a gun…”_

_“Yeah. Interpol’s reported date of the masked terrorist’s first sighting is only 4 days AFTER the date of the FBI agent’s murder."  Natasha leaned forward, retrieving the tablet from Steve, "That can’t be a coincidence, Steve.”_

_“So it’s him.”_

_“Pretty sure.”_

_“Good eye, Nat. I can’t believe I missed that.” The Captain eyed his co-leader with admiration and respect._

_The spy smirked and moved to pick up the discarded tablet._

_She joked, “You sure seem to catch on pretty quickly for an older fella…”_

_Steve chuckled._ _"Anything else in there that can help us trace him?” He said, nodding at the tablet sitting in Natasha's lap._

_“Nothing useful…” Natasha drawled as she scrolled through the document, “uh…just a bunch of detailed reports on each sightings of the masked terrorist.” Natasha snorted a little, “And, pretty much all of them involve illegal weapons.”_

_The Captain shook his head, “Wait, why would an ex-HYDRA agent end up running an arms cartel? It doesn’t fit his previous M.O. at all."_

_“Well, that’s just how it is, according to Interpol, anyway. And as far as I can tell, it’s pretty consistent. I mean, check out what he’s done over the last 2 years. This guy raids military bases all over the world, and almost all of the raided bases had had their armories emptied out. He intercepts shipments too, just 7 months ago, he intercepted a cargo ship travelling across the Atlantic to Europe. Take a guess at the cargo’s contents.”_

_“Weapons?”_

_The spy nodded, “Tanks, fighter jets, assault rifles, bazookas. That shipment’s got everything. But he only took the small stuff. Only the rifles, the bazookas and some explosives were missing from the shipment.”_

_“I guess that makes sense. You can’t exactly go into hiding with a couple of tanks in tow.” Steve said dryly._

_“True. But the point is, it’s always the same M.O. He’d organize attacks on cargo ships, military bases, weapons factories and etcetera. It’s always someplace that had to do with weapons. So it’s pretty clear that he’s been stealing weapons.”_

_“Even so, Nat. That doesn’t narrow it down enough for us to find him. Okay, so now that we know he’s going after weapons, and more specifically, he’s targeting military bases. But there are thousands of military bases all over the world. We can’t cover them all. And weapons shipments? There’re probably millions of those every day. At this point, we’re still grasping at straws.” The Captain leaned back in his chair._

_“Still the best lead we’ve got though. I plan to look further into this.”_

_“We need to find a pattern. Maybe FRIDAY can help us.” Steve suggested._

_“Ah, that’s the problem. There aren’t any patterns at all.” Natasha made two quick swiped at the screen, “Even if we look at –”_

_Natasha froze all of a sudden._

_“Nat?”_

_Her face wore an intense expression by the time she looked up._

_“Nat? What is it? I know that look. You have something.”_

_“I uh… it’s just a hunch. It could be nothing…”_

_“Come on, Nat. You and I both know that your hunches are never just nothing."_

_The redhead smiled at her Captain shyly._

_The Captain smiled back, "Come on, let’s hear it.”_

_“It says here that 5 months ago was the last time Interpol had had any sightings of Rumlow.” Natasha stared pointedly at the Captain._

_“5 months ago?” Steve raised his brows, “And then?”_

_“And then he went completely radio silent.”_

_“Inactive? For FIVE months?” said Steve skeptically._

_“Yeah. Just look.” said Natasha, the tablet held out in front of her._

_Steve frowned, “That’s weird.”_

_“That’s what I thought too. I mean, Interpol had been doing a pretty good job keeping tabs on him so far. But ever since 5 months ago? There’re just no more sightings of him. And get this, Rumlow’s activities had been pretty consistent over the last two years. His attacks always happened twice every month. Sometimes even up to three times a month. But here’s the thing, he never went radio silent for more than a month.”_

_Steve leaned forward, “But now he’s been quiet for 5 months..."_

_Natasha nodded, “So either he’s dead or…”_

_Steve caught on, “ **Or** , he’s laying low and planning something big.”_

_“Think about it, Steve. That question you asked before. Why would an ex-HYDRA agent turn to arms-dealing? I mean, he could’ve gone off grid with nobody ever tracing him, but no. Instead he went around organizing terrorist attacks? And raiding shipments? Why draw all that attention to himself? And of all things, why weapons?”_

_It didn’t take long for the Captain to fully catch on to Natasha’s insinuation._

_Steve snapped his fingers, “Rumlow needed access to weapons. That’s why he's been stealing them… God, it all makes sense now. Rumlow’s amassing firepower for some reason."_

_A brief pause ensued as Steve further contemplated the implications of their new insight._

_"He needs those guns because he’s planning a bigger attack. And by running an arms cartel, he could pack on guns AND cash...” Steve said a few seconds later._

_Natasha added, “Not just that. He could’ve stolen all those weapons covertly without ever showing his face. But instead, he made sure that Interpol caught glimpses of every single one of his activities? A bit strange, don't you think?”_

_“You saying he’s drawing attention to himself on purpose?” Steve asked, his eyes narrowed._

_“Yeah. It’s like putting out a calling card...” said Natasha, throwing a meaningful look at Steve._

_Steve closed his eyes in realization, “He’s recruiting…”_

_“We might be running out of time. He’s 5 months ahead of us.” Natasha stated gravely._

_“But we’re still nowhere close to finding him, Nat. Now that he’s got enough weapons stocked up, his next target could be anything, heck, it might not even be linked to weapons anymore. We’ve got no real leads. Not even a place to start.”_

_Natasha sighed, “No, there’s gotta be somewhere we could start looking. I mean, if he’s really planning something big, then he’s got to have a systematic approach to all his ops, right?"_

_"Like what?"_

_"Like some sort of general direction that he’s headed towards or-”_

_Once again, Natasha froze, and her gaze immediately found Steve’s._

_They stared at each other and smiled. It was a smile that indicated that they had both figured it out._

_“His last known location.” They both said together._

_“Bingo. That’s where we start. If he’s got something planned, it’d make perfect sense that he would work towards the location of his next target.” Natasha said as she flipped through the tablet again._

_Steve nodded in agreement, “Right. It simplifies the logistics.”_

_“Exactly. Hey, Steve, look at this. It says here that his last attack was at some Marine base in Nigeria. It’s called Ukpokiti Marine Terminal.”_

_“What’s the damage?”_

_“Dead soldiers. Burnt buildings. It’s his usual M.O., an open attack in broad daylight.”_

_“Christ. That’s exactly like you said, Nat. He’s drawing attention to himself. Did he steal anything?”_

_“Yeah. One truck. One tank. And guns.”_

_“Nigeria.” Steve steepled his fingers, “If we could get a list of all possible targets…”_

_“Right there with you, Steve. FRIDAY?”_

_“How may I be of assistance, Miss Romanoff?”_

_“We need a list of potential targets for terrorist attacks in Nigeria. Can you compile that list for us? Oh, it’s best if we could get data on the locations as well. Coordinates, addresses, as much details as you can possibly get.” Natasha ordered._

_“The specifics?” FRIDAY asked._

_Natasha thought for a while before answering, “Focus the search on locations within a 100 kilometer radius from Ukpokiti Marine Terminal. Pay special attention to major events within the area of search. Like festivals, conferences, group celebrations, well, basically those things that involve lots of civilians. Those could be targets-”_

_Steve interrupted, “You’re thinking some form of mass destruction or massacre?”_

_“Well, think about all the weapons he'd stolen on his previous raids. C-fours? Bazookas? Explosives? And don’t forget that tank he took from the marine base. It's pretty clear that he's aiming for maximum casualty.”_

_Steve nodded, “FRIDAY?”_

_“Yes, Captain Rogers?”_

_“Also check if there are any high-end shipments going into Nigeria.” Steve ordered before turning back to address Natasha, “we can’t overlook the possibility that he might be there to steal something again.”_

_“Any specifics regarding the shipments, Captain?” FRIDAY prompted._

_“Weapons? Cash? Anything that might be of interest to an international terrorist.” answered Steve._

_Ten minutes later, they struck gold._

_“Miss Romanoff, Captain Rogers, I have something. It seems that there’s a heavily guarded shipment bound for Lagos. More specifically, it’s headed for the IFID headquarters in Lagos.”_

_“IFID……Institute For Infectious Diseases.” Natasha drawled before her eyes widened in recognition, “Steve, bio weapons…”_

_Steve tensed up._

_“FRIDAY. When’s the payload due?” Steve asked._

_“ETA 3 weeks from now. It will first arrive by ship, and then it’ll be transferred to the HQ via a military convoy.” FRIDAY reported._

_“Okay. What about details regarding the payload? Did you find anything?”_

_“None available, Captain.”_

_“So it’s top secret…” Steve said, throwing Natasha a knowing look._

_“Bingo. We’ve nailed him, Steve. Finally.”_

_“Not yet." Steve shook his head, "We can’t just walk in there. It’s still their turf. An unchartered territory to us. We might need more time to plan.”_

_“Steve, relax. We’ve got 3 weeks. That’s plenty of time.”_

_Steve nodded, “I suppose that’s enough for us to plan and execute a recon mission-”_

_“I only need 2 days.” Natasha interjected, throwing a pointed gaze at her Captain._

_Steve’s features hardened, “Wait a minute...are you saying…Oh, no. No. No. Don't even think about it.”_

_“What? Just send me in. I can get us all the intel we need. Easy.”_

_“No! Absolutely not. Not this time.” Steve said resolutely._

_Natasha stiffened._

_“Why not? We need intel. And I can get us intel.”_

_Steve hissed, “Jesus. I’m not sending you in ALONE into enemy territory. If I do that, then I might as well just shoot you where you’re sitting right now.”_

_“Are you taking me off this mission?” Natasha bristled._

_“NO! I’m not against you being a part of this recon. I’m just sayin’ that there are alternatives. You don’t have to go in alo-”_

_"You and I both know that this is better off being a solo recon.” Natasha cut him off, her brows raised in challenge._

_Steve's_ _tone was firm, “But think about the contingencies! This isn’t your daily run-in-the-mill, okay? This is too high-end."_

_Natasha frowned, "Look, Steve, I've done this before..."_

_"Nat, NO. You ain’t risking your life like this. Not on my watch."_

_The two Avengers stared each other down. If Sam was there, he'd surely be making some kind of lewd comment about wanting to leave the room before 'those two go at each other like a bunch of enhanced rabbits'. The stalemate lasted until Natasha noticed (with much satisfaction) the bobbing of her Captain's Adam's apple as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat._

_Steve cleared his throat, "I’m sending a team with you.”_

_Stubborn, **stubborn** man. And yet so_  **infuriatingly** _attractive._

_"I'll update Ops tomorrow, put together a unit." Steve leaned forward, and folded his arms across his chest. Now more than ever, Natasha loathed the penchant Steve had for super-tight shirts._

_"Nat?" said the Captain as he reached across to touch Natasha's forearm. Natasha's thighs clenched in response._

_Oh, he so did not play fair._

_“Steve, sending more people is only gonna spook them. Is that really what you want? Another 15 more months to track him down?”_

_Steve shook his head, and pulled his hand back. For once, Natasha was glad that her words had found her mark._

_“This is the best lead we have on Rumlow for months, we can’t let this go to waste.” Natasha prodded again._

_Steve sighed, “Nat…”_

_“Look, if there’s anyone who can pull this off, it’s me. I’m the best person for the job. I speak their language, I can blend in, talk to the locals, scout the terrain. Maybe even find out where Rumlow is hiding in Lagos-”_

_“Damn it, Natasha! If we’re right about all of this, then Rumlow’s been holed up in there for 5 months already. He knows the place, he knows the people. Hell, he’s probably got eyes all over Lagos by now. Think about it, he’s got MONTHS of advantage over you. Going in alone is RECKLESS.”_

_Natasha's lips twitched into a smirk._

_“Aren’t you forgetting who I am?”_

_Steve glared at her, “As a matter of_ **fact,** _no."_

_"Then it's settled. You send me in alone, and-"_

_"Come on, Nat. A beautiful, white, Russian woman, chatting with the locals somewhere in Lagos and IN LOCAL TONGUE? Tell me that’s not gonna rouse suspicion.”_

_Natasha’s smirk widened. Truly, it's sweet, watching him worry about her well-being like this. But the job's still the job._

_“I could use the Nano Mask. It’d alter my facial appearance, including skin color. And I’ve got the perfect accent. No one would notice.” The redhead challenged, daringly defying a direct order from her Captain._

_“OR…” Steve gritted, “We could send Vision. He could go through walls, has a freaking vibranium body, and he had access to FRIDAY, and-”_

_Natasha shook her head disapprovingly, “Vision’s got zero experience in espionage. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. Not as well as I do, anyway.”_

_Steve’s face softened in defeat. She could tell that he was worried, it was written all over his face. Truth be told, it warmed her a little, knowing how much he cared, knowing that he valued her life over the mission._

_“Take Barton with you. I’d be more comfortable if there’s at least someone there watching your back. Barton’s a top-class spy. He’d be able to maintain cover without tipping Rumlow off.” he said finally, his toned resigned._

_“Steve, I know you’re worried. But you gotta greenlight this mission for me, okay? I need to infiltrate Lagos, alone. This is my forte. I can do this. Trust me. Please.” she said unwaveringly._

_Steve sighed, “Fine. 36 hours, Nat. And then you’re out of there. We clear?”_

_“48.”_

_“36. That’s final. Take it or leave it.”_

_“Deal.”_

_“I’ll call for a briefing tomorrow and let the team know.” Steve said and dropped his gaze to his lap, his expression unreadable._

_Natasha stood up, walked over, bent down, and planted one on his left cheek._

_“Thank you for trusting me, Steve. I won’t let you down.”_

_She was headed towards the door before she felt Steve's strong grip on her wrist._

_The warmth of that hand, and the pure strength that his grip carried, it caused her heart to flutter. Though she'd rather die than admit that to anyone._

_“You sure about this?”_

_“Yeah,” she smirked, “It’s gonna be fun.”_

Well. So, there was that. That was how they came to realize that Rumlow had been hiding somewhere in Lagos, which in turn led to her little solo recon mission.

Oh, and she totally _nailed_ that mission, by the way. Poor bastards never stood a chance. With 5 months of advantage over her, you’d think that they’d at least give her a bit of a challenge. But pfft, by the time she completed her mission, she hadn’t even brought out her A-game yet. Idiots.

What? Like she said, she was _good_ at this shit. She knew where and how to look. If you’re looking for information (like literally any non-digital information), the first place to look would be among the homeless street dwellers, of course. They’d know everything; from faces to vehicles that ever passed by the streets and even to dark trades going on in the underworld. Seriously, these guys know their shit. And most importantly, they respond well to, uh, _incentives._ Wouldn’t take much more than a few pennies for them to start spilling their guts to you. Toss them a few more and they’d even point you to the right places. Well, that was kinda how she found out that a _certain_ facially distorted, white, Caucasian male was spotted lurking around in the slums of Lagos. She even found out the exact location Rumlow had been hiding: it was some squalid, third-rate apartment. And voila. In less than 12 hours, she was out of there, and with all the intel they needed.

By the time she returned to the compound, she literally had to put her hand under Steve’s jaw to prevent it from dropping onto the floor. Seeing the look of pure shock and awe on her dear Captain’s face… Hah! That was _gold_ (definitely worth every second spent crawling on the dirty streets of Lagos). Well, after she aced the recon, the rest was all black-ops, Steve’s specialty. It was supposed to be a walk in the park. A simple extortion mission, nothing they hadn’t done a hundred times before. Plus, with all the details they obtained from her recon mission and with 3 weeks’ time for planning, they’d thought that it was pretty much a guaranteed success. Get in, BOLO the shit out of Rumlow and his goons, take them out while they make their move, extract Rumlow, and then lock ’em up. Voila. Easy peasy.

Well. Apparently, there was just one teeny-weeny bit of detail that had sort of slipped through her mind. Which was the fact that in their line of work, _nothing_ was ever _easy._

True enough, the mission went pear-shaped when Rumlow pulled a kamikaze on them. A fucking bomb vest. _That_ , was all it took to turn the entire mission (all 3 goddamn weeks of intricate tactical planning) into a legitimate cluster fuck which would probably make Charlie Foxtrot proud.

Brock Rumlow. A suicide bomber. A kamikaze. Seriously. Who would’ve even thought of _that_? Not the Avengers, obviously. And certainly not the 11 relief workers who were vaporized by the bomb vest.

As in any case involving civilian casualties, people just _had_ to find someone to blame. Actually, no, more like, people just had to put the blame on somebody _other_ than the actual perpetrator of the crime. The next thing they knew? Newsflash, the Earth’s Mightiest heroes just became the Earth’s Mightiest scapegoats! Get all the juicy details for 10 bucks per copy!  

And then afterwards was truly the time when shit got real. The Accords. The thing that tore the Avengers apart.

In hindsight, Natasha realized that perhaps her heart had been with Steve all along. Yes, okay, there were certain risks in signing the Accords. That much she was willing to concede. Then again, she had seen it as some sort of middle ground, a necessary compromise for the Avengers to stick together. It was the only way for them to avoid a direct confrontation with governments worldwide. Was it so wrong, if she said she just wanted to keep the Avengers together? To keep her family safe? To keep _Steve_ safe? The Avengers were her family, her _world._ The team was everything she had. They were her everything. And a girl just wanted to protect her family, damn it. And at that point, the Accords truly seemed to be the only way to achieve that. At least nobody would start shooting at Steve if he played along, right? That was precisely why she had wanted, _needed_ , Steve to sign the Accords, for his own sake, and for the team’s sake.

Simply put, Natasha had sided with Tony on the Accords because she thought that it was the safer side for everyone; Tony’s side was the path of least resistance, the path of safety. There was, of course, a second motive for her siding with Tony on the Accords. She thought that by allying herself with the Accords, then she just _might_ (eventually) be able to convince Steve to hop onboard. Look, she wasn’t blind, she knew just how much her opinions meant to Steve. It was pretty clear from the way Steve looked at her when she was explaining to the team about keeping one hand on the wheel and winning back the world’s trust. The intense, hopeful and expectant look Steve gave her as she spoke showed just how much Steve valued her views. Somehow, during the brief time that they co-led the New Avengers, she had gotten so much closer to Steve. They had reconnected and rebuilt their friendship after Ultron. Yes, she knew that siding with Tony was a risky move, a move that could potentially obliterate Steve’s trust in her, yet, she still held onto that tiny glimmer of hope that Steve would choose to stay on _her_ side, and, as a result give the Accords more thought.

In the end, it was obvious that she had completely underestimated Steve’s compulsion to do what he believed was right. Well, he _was_ right, Natasha would give him that, but in this case, the right way was also one hell of a difficult – _and dangerous_ – path to tread across. It was the path of most resistance, a path which would lead to devastating consequences for the Avengers. Yet, Steve didn’t falter, not even in the slightest bit. Guess she really should’ve seen that coming, considering how Steve’s obstinacy had driven her nearly insane over the years.

Nevertheless, Natasha had kept at her role as the Steve-magnet to draw him over to the path of least resistance for as long as she could. But guess what? Even the Black Widow had her limits. The look of pure agony she saw on Steve’s countenance when he and Barnes confronted her at the quinjet hangar was the final straw for Natasha. That was Natasha’s limit. Back at the quinjet hangar, she had witnessed, up close, something that almost everyone had thought Captain America was incapable of. It was _fear_. It was _despair._ It was the fear that he would have to fight or hurt her in order to do what was right. It was the fear that he had to choose between what was right and the person he cared about. And at that precise moment, as she caught a glimpse of the pure terror in Steve’s eyes, Natasha realized something. She realized that she couldn’t do that to Steve, she couldn’t put Steve through that torture. She just couldn’t. She knew how painful it was for Steve to fight her, because goddamnit, she felt the same. She understood that pain. You really think that she could bring herself to fight Steve Rogers, a man whom she respected and cared for deeply? The mere thought of hurting Steve… just… _ugh_.

In the end, when she finally let him through, she was rewarded with a look of pure relief and gratitude from Steve. She saw the look of trust slowly crept back onto his face. And not just any trust, it was the trust in _her_ that she had seen returning to his face. Boy, did that feel good.  

Anybody in her position would have just let Steve pass through and did nothing else. But she was never just anybody, she was the Black Widow, master of espionage. She had her own sneaky ways. The entire occurrence at the hangar had been a setup, it was all part of her plan. She had been stalling Steve and Barnes until T’Challa arrived behind them before she acted. When she shot T’Challa with her Widow’s Bite, she had made both Steve and Barnes turn their heads. She then took advantage of their momentary distraction and shot a couple of tracking devices onto Steve’s left boot. The devices were tiny, perhaps only about the size of a grain of rice. They were older tracking devices models that she had used back in her SHIELD days. Unfortunately, she couldn’t access Steve’s location right away because the devices’ location data were encrypted in such a way that was only accessible through an obsolete tracking software that she had written years ago for SHIELD – which she had no immediate access to. Any hopes of knowing Steve’s whereabouts would have to wait until Coulson provides her with the necessary tools.

Indeed, Natasha could have planted the latest, state-of-the-art Avengers-issued tracking devices on Steve, which would have granted her instant access to Steve’s location. However, the master-spy within her knew better than to make that mistake. The thing about these newer models of tracking devices was that she wasn’t the only person who had access to the GPS data they emit. Ross, the task force, and Tony; all of them could tap into Steve’s location had she planted the latest model of tracking devices onto Steve. Under normal circumstances, that would have been favorable. However, given recent happenings, she highly doubted that Ross’ task force would be there to serve as Steve’s back-up. For all she knew, leading the task force to Steve’s location would only paint more targets on his back.  

For half an hour, Natasha navigated her car cautiously through the highway, constantly paying attention to see if she was tailed. She had passed by 3 or 4 cars, though none of them gave her any trouble thus far. She had even cranked up her car’s audio system to the max just so she could maintain her cover as a crazy, excited blonde on a solo escapade to god-knows-where. Soon, Natasha spotted an exit that she knew would lead her to a secret passageway to Clint’s farm. Taking the exit, she made a swift right turn. She followed the exit for another stretch until the scenery changed from flat lands to thick forests.

At the change of scenery, Natasha pressed lightly on the brakes, slowing her car down.

_Time to focus, where is the mark?_

For a few seconds, she squinted and glanced hard to locate the special mark.  

_There._

It was a mark of a bow and arrow placed on one of the tree trunks _._ She took a swift glance at her rearview mirror and saw that there were no cars behind her. _Perfect._ Wasting no time, she stopped her car beside the marked tree and stared at the mark. A second later, the trees parted and a tunnel (an underpass to be exact) appeared. She checked her rearview mirror again before pulling into the secret passageway.

Her usual mode of transportations to Clint’s farm were quinjets. Taking quinjets would undoubtedly be easier and safer. However, Hawkeye had insisted upon having this secret passageway constructed just in case of an emergency, so Fury made it happen – off the records, obviously. The only way for the special mark on the tree to be visible was through special contact lenses (the ones she had donned while she back at the compound’s garage) owned only by specific people: namely, the Barton family, Fury, a few members of Coulson’s team, Coulson, and Natasha herself. Hidden within the trunk of the marked tree was a special retinal scanner which only greenlights the aforementioned people.

The underpass was a 15-minute drive. It was an underground tunnel, with a diameter equivalent to the width of 2 standard SUVs. At the other end of the tunnel, lay a secret uphill path leading towards the farm. The moment her Corvette emerged from the other end of the tunnel, Natasha was confronted by a breathtaking scenery of tall and majestic trees on both sides of the path. Hawkeye’s planning of the secret route was nothing but ingenious. The road was a narrow, uphill gravel path, surrounded by the thick layers of forest, hence keeping it obscured from anyone viewing from above. From above, the gravel path was completely blocked from view by the thick canopies of the forest. Fury had also ensured that the entire terrain (all the way until Clint’s farm) remain outside any satellite coverage; meaning, the entire area was deliberately made to not appear on any satellite imaging data. It was therefore unlikely for anyone on the planet (other than the intended people) to have any access or knowledge to the existence of the entire region.

At the sight of the familiar terrain around her, Natasha felt the strain of the day slowly leave her body. Her mood, however, took a melancholic turn as she drove slowly uphill on the serpentine gravel path. She thought about the previous times she had to go on the run, and realized that it was 2 years ago, together with Steve, when they were headed to New Jersey on a pick-up truck. Then she thought back to DC; during the time she helped Steve take down HYDRA. She remembered distinctly her intimate conversation with Steve at Sam’s apartment. How could she not? It was one of the very few times she felt…trusted, and by somebody as good and honorable as Steve Rogers. It was a memory that she would cherish for as long as she lived.

_“I owe you.”_

_“It’s okay.” Steve replied with a light shake of his head. A weak smile forming on his handsome features._

_“If it was the other way around…and if it was down to me to save your life, now you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?” Natasha asked, her eyes shining in anticipation of Steve’s answer._

_“I would now.”_

As she replayed their conversation in her mind over and over again, the layers of trust shrouded behind Steve’s words sank in. Steve Rogers _trusted_ her. _Her._ At that thought, Natasha was instantly rewarded with a much needed surge in morale. Having Steve’s trust felt… comforting. It reminded her that she was still capable of some good in this world. It made her feel strong, powerful, and _virtuous._ It gave her hope.

A smirk slowly formed on Natasha’s lips as another realization hit her.  

 _That’s what Captain America is really capable of. Inspiring people anywhere and anytime, even in spirit, so it seems._ She thought to herself.

As amusing as the thought sounded in her head, Natasha couldn’t help but feel the undeniable truth behind it. There was World War 2, where Steve went from being a ‘dancing monkey’ promoting war bonds to the great commander who led the assault that took down the notorious Red Skull. And then, there was also that impressive battle speech he gave during the Insight Helicarriers’ launch. That speech more than inspired a substantial number of loyal SHIELD agents to take a stand against HYDRA. Though the most prominent proof of all, in Natasha’s opinion, had to be the Battle of New York, during the Chitauri invasion. How Steve had managed back then to get (A) a genius billionaire, (B) a _Prince_ from Asgard and (C) a green rage monster (basically a couple of guys with _massive_ egos) to follow his command in such a short timeframe still remained a mystery to Natasha, even after all these years; what about the fact that these guys had barely known each other for a day, and yet Steve had somehow gotten all of them to function as a coherent unit? Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that at the time, Steve had _just_ recovered from being frozen in ice for nearly 70 years. If _that_ was the same guy who claimed to trust her with his life, then there would be no chance in hell that she was gonna let him down. Damn right, Steve trusted her with his life. She’d be damned if she allowed anything to happen to him. She’d get Steve the help he needed, save his ass, or at least, she knew damn well that she would die trying.

 _Steve, hang in there. Please. I’m gonna find you._ Natasha silently pleaded.

With her newfound resolve, Natasha stepped harder on the accelerator, thrusting her Corvette forward through the gravel path.


	3. Safe Haven

_“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” – Maya Angelou_

 

* * *

 

It took another 3 long hours before the gravel path ended. Natasha’s Corvette emerged from the thick forest and entered a beautiful expanse of evergreen plateau. Taking her left hand off the wheel, she reached over to her side and toggled the power window switch. Her face was instantly met with a cool breeze which carried a grassy scent. Angling her head leftwards, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh air, and was rewarded with an overwhelming sense of peace and calm, a rare homey feeling. From afar, she spotted Clint’s familiar homestead. It was a wooden two-story farmhouse with a ridiculously large red chimney. She slowed down her car as she began to mull over another problem, a problem that had to be tackled with utmost care and delicacy: what to tell Laura and the kids?

Much to Natasha's surprise, that question had completely slipped her mind throughout the drive here. But in her defense, she _was_ kinda on the run… and she had to keep watching her back in order to make sure she wasn’t followed…so she guessed she just sort of... _forgot_? Nevertheless, the problem was there, whether she liked it or not, and it had to be delicately dealt with, one way or another.  

She drove slowly through the plateau and pondered her predicament for a good 10 minutes. At the outset, it seemed a rather hopeless case, much to Natasha's chagrin. For the life of her, she just couldn't come up with any means whatsoever to broach the subject to Laura without inciting some kind of panic attack…or hysteria… or a complete emotional meltdown. Then again, she ought to give Laura some credit. Laura wasn't some weakling who couldn't handle the truth. In fact, Natasha knew just how strong Laura Barton truly was. Well, being married for years to an Avenger/master assassin/master spy certainly bore testimony to that fact. And not to mention the fact that Natasha had seen Laura's strength with her own two eyes when Laura took it upon herself to pick up the pieces and nurse Clint back to himself after Loki messed with his head.   

But still.  

The kids.

Lila. Cooper.

_Nathaniel._

The niece and nephews whom she had come to love as if they were her own.

Natasha sighed.

Admittedly, that was one ridiculously tough nut to crack. After all, the kids were so young. So innocent, and inexperienced, which made it nearly impossible for them to even _comprehend_ the sheer intricacy of the circumstances surrounding their father's incarceration, much less _accept_ it. How would they even react, if their Auntie Nat suddenly came walking through the door, bearing news of their father's lifelong incarceration? How would they feel, if their own Auntie Nat were to tell them that they might never be able to see daddy again, and that it was all because of something their Auntie Nat did?

Could she really do that to the kids?

Could she bear the burden of breaking their pure, innocent hearts? 

Seconds trickled by as Natasha's mind filled itself to the brim with images of Lila and Cooper, huddled against Laura, sobbing feverishly into her chest; and images of little Nathaniel in his neonatal endeavors to pronounce the word 'daddy' despite the distinct possibility that he might never see his daddy again. And Clint, who might not even have the chance to kiss his wife again, or to be there when the word 'daddy' finally formed on his newborn son's lips. 

A pang of guilt shot through Natasha's veins, and the dull ache in her chest instantly transformed into something downright heart-wrenching, as if somebody had just stabbed her in the heart with a karambit. And when Clint's old garage (and the huge lake beside it) came into view, Natasha realized she hadn't gotten any closer at all to finding a solution to this ordeal. She got nothing. She literally got nothing.  

 _Screw it. I should just give them the truth._ They deserved the truth after all.  _On_ _second thought…_ maybe not the _whole_ truth.

She supposed she could give Laura alone the whole truth, but then try sugarcoating it with the kids. Not that it would be an easy task, coming up with clever euphemisms for 'Hey kids! Just a quick heads up! You guys might never be able to see your daddy again. So! Please be strong! And I'm always here for you guys! Hugs and kisses!'. Natasha cringed. As she thought, it seemed like the task was impossible after all. At this rate, she could either end up being: A) a liar who lied to the children about their father's circumstances, or B) a _homewrecker_ in a Your-Dad-Is-Gone-Because-Of-Something-I-Did sense.

It suddenly occurred to her just how much she wished for Steve's presence right now. She missed him. She wanted her partner back by her side. And so help her God she _needed_ him, especially during times like this. His words, his wisdom, his advices, and his insights into the human heart. She needed them now more than ever. Because that man would always be able to find the right words to say no matter what the situation is, despite how infuriatingly  _ **stubborn**_ he might act at times.

_I miss you, Steve._

Her eyes pricked. A stark reminder of Steve's absence, and of the fact that she was all alone in this.

Then it came to her, the solution: she would tell Laura alone the whole truth, and leave it to her to tell the kids.

A good plan, albeit a little cowardly.

By the time Natasha pulled up in front of the house, she was surprised to see the garage’s door opened and Clint’s pickup truck parked outside, leaving an empty space in the garage for her car. It was as if someone was expecting her arrival and knew she needed a spot to hide her car. For a split second, she panicked and began rummaging through her duffel bag for her handguns, fearing that the farm had been compromised after all.

But then it clicked.

_Phil._

He must have called ahead and told them she'd be arriving.

Natasha exhaled slowly.

Sheesh, she did seem  _remarkably_ edgy today for some reason, a behavior so uncharacteristic of her usual cool and composed persona. Then again, said behavior may or may not have something to do with the life threatening situation a certain super soldier was then about to face.

Natasha maneuvered her Corvette into the garage before killing the engine. She took off her photo static mask and blonde wig. Both items were subsequently stuffed into her duffel bag. She took in her own reflection in the rear view mirror and tried to make herself look normal and composed – can’t imagine what the kids would feel if she walked into the house looking like she had just fought down a squadron of Chitauri army _._ Once satisfied with her reflection, she zipped up her duffel bag, exited her car and the garage with her bag slung over her right shoulder. She swiftly closed the garage door and strolled to the back door of the house. For the sake of normalcy, she actually _knocked_ instead of just picking the locks. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself for some serious explaining task ahead.

_One second._

_Two seconds._

_Three seconds._

_Four seconds._ The lock clicked open.

CREAK.The door opened on the fifth second, and Natasha was instantly greeted by the sight of a beautiful brunette and the pleasant smell of pancakes.

And on the sixth second, Natasha Romanoff could already feel it in her bones: the promise of warmth and comfort. She could feel the weight of her crumbled world slowly easing off her shoulders, bit by bit, piece by piece.

On the seventh second, Natasha smiled a little.

She was home.

 

* * *

 

Laura Barton greeted her with a smile, “Nat! Phil called, said you were coming over.”

Great, Phil kept it vague, leave it all to poor her to deliver the hammer blow.  _T_ _hanks a lot, Phil._

Laura looked beautiful. Elegant. She carried herself with an air of sophistication and class, as always. To any untrained eye, Laura's appearance would pass as nonchalant. Cheery, even. But it wasn't hard for Natasha to see through the facade. Just one glance, and Natasha knew right away. She knew that there cannot possibly be cheer, or joy, behind Laura’s haunted eyes. If nothing else, the bags under her eyes gave it all away. Laura was clearly overwrought, but was trying to keep up a cheery appearance. Odds were that it was all for the children’s sake.

Natasha smiled back. 

Laura's eyes flicked towards somewhere beyond the doorway, at the space behind where Natasha was standing. But not a second later, Laura was looking back at her again, still with that happy-go-lucky smile. 

Subtle. But not subtle enough to elude the Black Widow.

_She was looking to see if Clint had come home with me..._

The smile on Natasha’s face faltered.

_Damn it._

This was so much harder than she thought. 

“Lor, hi. We need to talk, in private. Where are the kids?” said Natasha, keeping her tone as flat as possible. 

“Um…Okay, yeah, sure. But you sound so serious, is everything alright? Oh, and the kids, they are upstairs, I was just about to put them to bed." Laura fumbled with the door knob, "I mean we just had dinner, but uh..." Laura rambled slightly before she checked herself and stepped aside to clear the doorway, "Oh, um, Nat, please, come in.”

Natasha nodded and stepped through the opened door.

Immediately, Laura pulled her in for a hug.

“Nat, it’s so,  _so,_ good to see you…" said Laura, pulling away from the brief hug. "When Clint left, I couldn’t stop worrying.”

“It’s good to see you too, Lor." said Natasha, stepping back slightly. She squared her shoulders and held Laura's gaze steadily, "Listen, Clint’s fine, I promise. But he can’t come home just yet. I’ll tell you everything once you put the kids to bed. I don’t want them to overhear us. Everything’s gonna be alright. Trust me.” Natasha stated reassuringly.

Laura visibly relaxed upon hearing Natasha’s words. After closing and locking the door, Laura guided Natasha towards the kitchen counter.

“You look worn, Nat.”

From the kitchen counter, Natasha looked up, but only to find Laura staring pointedly at the nasty bruises covering her neck (courtesy of the Winter Soldier’s metal arm).

Natasha smiled, “I’m okay, Lor. Just had a long day is all.”

“Hey, um, why don’t you help yourself to dinner while I go put the kids to bed?”

A warm, tingly feeling crept its way into Natasha's heart. She felt warm all over, and light, as if she could literally float into the air like a hot air balloon if she'd let it.

"Nat?"

She shook her head slightly, "Yeah. I'm sorry?"

"How does leftover pancakes sound?"

The redhead stared at the brunette for a few lingering seconds.

“Actually, that sounds great, Laura. Thanks.”

“Okay, then just sit tight. Dinner will be ready in a few.”

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Natasha sat alone at the kitchen counter nursing a plate of pancakes and a cup of green tea. Laura had gone upstairs to be with the children five minutes ago, leaving Natasha alone to enjoy the languid hush of the kitchen. While she ate, Natasha took in the appearance of the house. The living room looked exactly the same other than the presence of a new baby cradle beside the couch, which immediately reminded Natasha of the latest addition to Barton’s family.

_Nathaniel, of course._

Nathaniel was Hawkeye’s youngest son who was born after Ultron’s defeat a year ago. A sweet boy still in the early stages of life, basking in innocence; that stage of life which had been brutally taken away from young Natalia Romanova nearly two decades ago. Averting her gaze from the cradle, Natasha’s sight landed on the coffee table where she saw newspapers (still opened) scattered messily across the entire table. A laptop with its lid opened sat atop the newspapers. Natasha was a sharp woman. One glance sufficed for her to put the pieces together. She didn’t even need to walk over to the coffee table to figure out precisely what Laura had been doing for the past few days, and perhaps been doing just moments ago. Obviously, Laura had been searching, _frantically,_ for any news about her husband. And from Laura’s demeanor, her searches were most probably fruitless. Unsurprisingly so. Since the government would probably want to keep the incarcerations of the members of the Avengers quiet, for PR reasons. Despite the alleged ‘fear’ and ‘hatred’ towards the Avengers, there were still quite a substantial amount of fans out there who actually supported the avenging crew. Clint’s arrest along with the others’ were probably kept out of the media’s reach to avoid public provocation.

Her meal was done about half an hour later, her plate all but licked clean. She'd even taken her time to do the dishes.

There were still no signs of Laura.

An eerie silence permeated the house. Too quiet to Natasha’s liking.

_What’s taking her so long? The kids usually fall asleep in under 10 minutes..._

_Crap._

Natasha’s super-spy senses kicked in.

She walked over to her duffel bag, pulled out both of her Glock 26s and unlocked their safeties.

Very slowly, Natasha crept towards the stairway.

_Please be okay, please be okay._

“Laura! You okay up there?” Natasha shouted, her voice echoed through the stairway.

Silence.

“Laura!” Natasha tried again.

Much eerie silence ensued.

No footsteps. No voices.

Nothing.

_Shit._

How could this be? Lance and Bobbi were watching the place like hawks (she spotted the two of them among the trees while she was driving through the gravel path). Unless those two were busy making out on the tree top, then nobody could possibly slip past them. Well, _she_ could, but that was totally beside the point.

Standing at the bottom of the stairway, Natasha weighed her options. She thought of ringing Coulson and then asking him to send in backup. And hey, maybe she could go back out to call down those two lovebirds herself. Then again, the mere thought of leaving the house…

Nope. Not a chance in hell.

She supposed she could call Coulson anyway, and maybe have _him_ alert the love birds about the situation-   

She heard a door close upstairs.

_Argh. To hell with backups. I ain’t afraid of nobody._

She was an Avenger who whooped some serious Chitauri ass, for heaven’s sake. She could handle some lowly goons with guns. Okay, except maybe when said goons had a bunch of sleeping ten-year-olds as leverage… now _that,_ would certainly be a situation of considerable hairiness. _Oh fuck._ Natasha tightened her grip on her weapons, steeling herself for a battle. Still standing at the bottom of the staircase, the spy waited, eyes wide open in anticipation of an assault. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, heightening her every sensory faculties. She felt everything. Her own pulse, thrumming in her ears. The tingles on her nape. The latter nearly had her shivering.

Seconds later, her ears pricked up again. This time, it was the sound of creaking floorboards. Her familiarity with the farmhouse allowed her to pin-point the exact source of the noise. The creaking was caused by a series of planks (an entire strip of them along the whole length of the hallway upstairs) which were deliberately made to sound whenever they were stepped on. It was Clint’s idea of a safety measure. See, anyone familiar with the workings of the house knew about them and would usually avoid stepping on them, and that was kinda the idea of it – a quick way to identify intruders lurking in the hallway.

_Maybe Laura just stepped on it by accident?_

Another creak sounded.

_Fuck._

A drop of perspiration slid down the column of Natasha’s neck.

She held her breath, eyes laser-focused on the space at the top of the stairway.

The barrel of both Glocks rose an inch higher as Natasha growled.

Fuck it.

Hell hath no fury like a woman whose family came to harm in the hands of sadistic evil bastards with guns. They were about to fall victim to the full wrath of the Black Widow, all of them, whoever that was lurking upstairs. Threaten _her_ family? Hah. She was about to give them a taste of _hell_.

She was ready. So ready.

_Come on, you sons of bitches._

Her eyes picked up shadows, and within the next microsecond, she reacted. She dashed up the stairs soundlessly, taking 4 steps at a time. She was about a third of the way to the top when she saw………

Laura emerging from the top of the stairway.

Natasha heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall of the stairway.

“Боже мой, Laura, you scared the _shit_ out of me! _Jesus._ ”

Natasha turned and retreated down the stairs, surprised that she could actually walk given the state of wobbliness of her legs. As the adrenaline wore out, so did her energy. All of a sudden, she felt drained.

Laura followed her to the bottom of the stairs.  

“Nat, jeez, I’m sorry. I was just preparing the guest bedroom for you and then I fell asleep…”

“The floorboard alerts, you sounded it.” Natasha quickly put her guns away. Laura had then reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Did I? Gosh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize it." Laura said, turning back to look in the direction she just came down from, "Must’ve been a misstep.”

“Don’t _**ever** _ do that again.” Natasha said with such ferocity that had Laura flinching slightly.

“Please…” Natasha added a second later.  

The sight of Natasha’s tear-brimmed eyes only served to intensify Laura’s guilt. 

“I know, I know. I’m so very sorry, Nat. I just...haven’t had time to prepare the guestroom for you after Phil called…” Laura explained apologetically, subtly glancing towards the coffee table containing all the newspapers.

That glance didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha.

 _Guess that explains why Laura stepped on the floorboards. Must have been a tiring few days for her._  

Another surge of guilt walloped the redhead. 

“God, Laura, I’m so sorry you guys were dragged into this mess. I truly am." said Natasha, putting both hands atop Laura's shoulders, "Look, I know you are worried about Clint, but please, trust me when I say that he’s fine right now. Plus, you can’t really find news about him through the media, I’m willing to bet all my chips that the government covered it up.”

“Nat, the kids are asleep, so why don’t we go talk? Tell me what’s going on.” Laura pleaded.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go sit on the couch. I’ll tell you everything.” Natasha complied, took Laura’s hand and pulled her towards the living room.

 

* * *

 

“Did Phil mention when he will be here?” Natasha asked once both of them were seated comfortably on the couch. 

“Err yeah, based on the time he told me when he called, I’d say that he’d be here in about…" Laura checked the grandfather clock, "another 4 hours from now... Why?”

Natasha wondered if Steve could even last four hours, though she kept her cool.  

“Damn, 4 hours. I don’t know if that’s quick enough, Lor. But I guess that'll gives me enough time to fill you in on things.”

“You need to be somewhere…” remarked Laura. 

_So much for keeping my emotions in check._

“Yeah, kinda. You’ll get it once I tell you everything.” Natasha replied.

“Okay, then, I’m all ears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Боже мой = Bozhe moi = Oh My God


	4. Recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Played around with the sisterly relationship between Natasha and Laura in this chapter.

_“We do not learn, and what we call learning is merely a process of recollection.” – Plato_

 

* * *

 

“We were in Lagos few days ago, for a mission." Natasha cleared her throat, "We _,_ as in the Avengers, by the way." She met Laura's anxious eyes before continuing, "It was an op to prevent a terrorist attack. Steve led the operation..." Natasha took a breath and went for the dive, "But, long story short? The mission went south.”

Natasha had deliberately avoided the gruesome details of that day. Those were the kinds of stuff that Laura did not need to hear. Not that the blatant omission had done much to ease the pained expression on Laura's countenance. 

“I'm sorry...” Laura whispered, reaching for Natasha's hand, "Were you hurt?"

_Ever the saint, Laura. Ever the saint._

Natasha managed a tight smile, “It’s okay. And no, we weren't hurt. Just a bunch of scrapes and bruises."

"Good." said Laura, giving Natasha's hand a light squeeze. 

Natasha sighed, her expression scrunched and puckered: wrinkles of sobriety; ridges of guilt.

Natasha's voice came out as a weak purr.

"People died, Lor."

"Civilians?"

"Yeah..." Natasha shook her head, "Innocent bystanders. Dead." She enunciated, ripples of frustration rolling off her tongue, "Just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Natasha felt another squeeze on her hand. It was a warm gesture, comforting even - despite the shitty circumstances. And with it, Natasha found the strength to dredge up the painful memories of the days prior.

"We took down the group of mercenaries responsible for the attack, and secured the bio-weapons they were transporting. But of course, there were consequences.”

Laura nodded, "The casualties..."

"Yeah... And it's bad." Natasha shook her head, wincing at the sharp pain she felt in her neck. 

"How bad?"

"We were the scapegoats."

"...."

“The government..." Natasha tilted her head aside, "well, _governments_ actually. The UN, to be precise-"

Recognition shone in Laura's eyes.

"Lemme guess." said Laura, quirking a brow, "Politics."

Natasha felt a pull on her cheeks. The beginnings of a sardonic smile.

"Hung you guys out to dry, didn't they?" said Laura with a look of disgust, "To save their own skin..." 

Natasha dipped her chin, "Blamed us for the casualties. Said the Avengers were too dangerous to operate without oversight."

"They're shutting you down?"

"No." Natasha shook her head, "Not really. They're not that stupid. They know they still need us. They did come up with some kind of agreement, though. You may have heard of it over the past few days. It's called the Sokovia Accords."

Laura hummed, her eyes darting briefly towards the coffee table, "Read about that in the papers. But not in detail."

"Basically, it’s a document that puts the Avengers directly under the UN's supervision.” Natasha explained.

"A middle ground." said Laura.

Natasha nodded, "We'd still be able to operate, but only within the UN's terms. And it goes without saying that we'd no longer be operating as a standalone organization. Every op and every funding has to be UN-sanctioned."

“Did you guys sign?” Laura asked.

“Some of us did, some of us didn’t." Natasha paused, stealing a glance at the woman beside her, "Clint didn’t sign.”

Laura tensed slightly, though her expression exuded nothing but self-possessed equanimity. Except that the dark circles and heavy bags under Laura's eyes had already betrayed her innermost thoughts and worries to the master spy. For the nth time, Natasha wondered if she had made a terrible mistake by showing up at the farm that night.

"Is that..." Laura turned slightly towards Natasha, her eyes gliding over Natasha's visage in a cautious, yet somewhat hopeful, perusal, "Is that a bad thing?"

"It depends." Natasha dithered, carefully considering her words, "Depends on how you look at it. And what your end goals are."

She was stalling. Buying herself more time, like a coward. If Laura noticed the act, she didn't call it out.

Natasha cleared her throat. Those bruises on her neck were really starting to sting. "I guess for Clint's case, it might not be such a bad thing..."

"Uh-huh..." said Laura, her tone flat, and her face showcasing the acme of skepticism and vigilance, "So you mean there aren't any  _co_ _nsequences,_  this time?"

Natasha looked away. Not for Laura's sake, but for her own. She honestly couldn't recall the last time Laura Barton's eyes had looked upon her with such mistrust, and  _fear._

_God. Does she really think I'm here to arrest her?_

“Nat." Natasha felt a pull on her hand. She pulled in a deep breath, steeling herself. 

"What's gonna happen to-"

"I'm not here to arrest-"

They spoke over each other.

Natasha stared at Laura in shock, half-afraid that Laura would start chasing her out of the house. 

Laura cleared her throat, "What's gonna happen to those who don’t sign?”

“They’d no longer be part of the team."

Laura leveled a stare at the redhead, "That as in..."

"They’d be forced into retirement.” Natasha clarified quickly.

“Retirement." Laura heaved a sigh, "You're right. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Natasha inwardly cringed, knowing the plethora of facts that she had yet to divulge. Facts, which could not possibly be consigned, in any reasonable capacity, to the 'not so bad' category. 

“There’s more to it. This document……” Natasha paused, pulled in a deep breathe, “it tore the team apart."

Despite Laura's hands growing taut in her own, Natasha did nothing to impede the deluge of words that were already forming at the tip of her tongue. Had to get them out, before her courage was spent. 

"Cap disagreed with the terms while Tony insisted that we should all sign. Sort of like a clash of the Titans type thing.”

“Which side are you on?” Laura asked, her tone measured and cautious, as if sensing Natasha's susceptivity towards the matter. 

“I signed...but...” Natasha said, suddenly feeling an invisible weight on her shoulders. Overwhelmed by the sudden wave of lassitude, Natasha lowered her gaze to her lap, shaking her head slightly at her own weakness.

“Had a change of heart?” Laura asked pointedly.

The conversation stilled.

Did she?

Could the matter really be reduced to so simple a notion as 'picking sides'?

Was it even a question of loyalty? Or was it more about necessity and preservation.

Hell if she knew.

“It's a bit more complicated than that..."

"Okay?"

Natasha stared unendingly at her lap. Somehow, her ocular fixation towards her own lap felt comforting, weird as it sounded. Or maybe it was the warmth radiating from Laura's palm cradled in her own. It then occurred to her that Laura was still holding her hand.

Progress. 

"Steve was mostly concerned about the changing agendas of the people behind the Accords. And then there's also the risk of the Avengers being misused...by nefarious parties..."

"Sounds reasonable to me..." remarked the brunette. 

"I'm with Cap on that one..." Natasha nodded, "Well, it's hard not to, ever since..." The spy hesitated, "Ever since the fall of SHIELD, we all know what HYDRA is capable of. If they had the resources to plant themselves within SHIELD, the world’s leading intelligence agency at the time...and stayed hidden in it for decades?" Natasha raised her palm before dropping it back onto her lap, "What else can’t they do? Planting a few HYDRA agents among UN representatives can’t be harder than infiltrating the world's top intelligence agency...”

Laura, if anything, looked even more perplexed, as though she'd just been told that two and two amounts to five. Hardly a surprise, she supposed. After all, the Black Widow was never known for her terrific sharing skills. If anything, it was the opposite.

“I'm sorry, Nat, I'm afraid I don’t understand… if you agreed with Cap, then why’d you sign?” said Laura, though her tone wasn't accusatory. Just tired. And confused. 

“To keep the team safe." stated Natasha with absolute conviction. If there was one thing she could be damn sure about in this whole babel of a situation, it was that. There was no mistaking the one reason for her signing and the main motivation behind all her actions of the past day. Signing was the only way to keep the team together. Ironically, it was also the same conviction that had driven a wedge between her and Steve. Something that she was hell-bent on fixing as soon as possible, if it wasn't already too late.    

At Laura's silence, Natasha picked up, "Signing is the only way we can stay together and still do what we do without the world painting targets on our backs..."

Laura pulled back slightly.

"No offense, but it sounds like you're playing right into their political games."

Natasha sighed, "Trust me. It's the only way we can move forward."

"Is it?"

"We've got no choice, Laura. We have to show the world that we're willing to take responsibilities for all our actions. Politically, at least."

"Winning back the world's trust, so to speak." said Laura.

Natasha nodded, "And maintaining good PR. Otherwise, we'd just be another lawless, super-powered mercenary group waiting to go rogue. That's how the world sees us now. And trust me when I say that they would've done _everything_ in their power to shut us down."

"Or kill you." Laura grimaced at her own choice of words.

Natasha sighed, "Or kill us."

All of a sudden, Laura shifted, “Nat, you said you signed because you wanted to keep the team safe..."

"......"

"But isn’t that only possible if they _all_ signed?"

"Guess so, yeah."

"So...how does your signing affect the decisions of the rest?"

Natasha looked away. 

"Unless…" Laura drawled, eyes narrowed in thought, "unless you think your decision has some sort of influence over Cap’s...”

Natasha smiled weakly. Over the years, Laura Barton had always impressed Natasha with her keen insights. But surprisingly, Natasha had often found Laura's perceptiveness oddly comforting, whereas anyone else's would've instantly raised her hackles. Perhaps that was why the farm felt so much like her home. She felt safe here, like she could drop her guard and still live to see the day.

“Yeah, I guess I thought, and _hoped,_ that my signing would change Steve's mind…"

Laura waited, although she didn't have to. Natasha was already in sharing mode anyway. She owed Laura some answers after what happened to Clint. 

"Siding with the UN would be the safest, for everybody." Natasha added a few seconds later.

Laura's gaze softened, "But at what cost?"

Something heavy tugged at the space between Natasha's breasts, right where her heart was. It was a familiar perception, like a pullulating tingle, which, all too quickly, had begun morphing into a quagmire of emotions. Emotions, which felt all too real, and all too intimate. And somewhere, deep within the penetralia of her consciousness, Natasha found herself reliving all of them: sadness, comfort, warmth, and _relief._ The sensations were merging, like the conflux of two rivers; combining, converging into a beautiful scene. A memory: of church bells and English accents, and pews, and  _him,_ standing among those pews, expressing the same sentiments that Laura did. 

_What are we giving up to do it?_

_I'm sorry, Nat..._

_I can't sign it..._

_I know..._

_Then what are you doing here?_

_I didn't want you to be alone..._

_Come here..._

"Nat?"

Natasha cleared her throat, "Yeah..." She said, shaking off the last vestiges of her reverie, "There are risks, I know. But once we’re in good terms with the UN, we can pull strings from behind. Make sure everything’s clean. It won’t be easy, but at least we'd still be a team. Plus, we'd have Fury helping us with that, too...” Natasha waved her free hand, “Anyway, Cap and I… I feel we’ve gotten closer again over the past year. Rebuilt our bond and everything. So I thought that if I signed……then he might… I don’t know… give the Accords more thought, maybe?"

"Right. And if you could get Cap to sign..."

Natasha nodded, "Yeah. The rest would, too.”

For a long, protracted moment, the two women sat, basking in the hushed stillness of the night, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Indeed, it was notable, the irony of it all: that external peace comes only during times of internal turmoil; that one's surroundings are the quietest only when the mind is the noisiest.

Laura broke the silence first.  

“From the looks of it, I’m guessing that plan didn’t work out. Else Cap wouldn’t have called Clint for help…”

Natasha chuckled, "No. No, it didn't."

Natasha looked up. And she found Laura staring back at her with such intensity that she felt a sudden need to hightail it out of the house and then drive herself off a cliff. But it was also clear from the look in the brunette's eyes that there was no more avoiding this conversation. It was time to give Laura the whole truth.

Natasha shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat.

“That had nothing to do with the Accords. Not directly, anyway.” Natasha finally said, earning her another look of utter puzzlement from Laura.

“What?”

“It's about Cap’s old war buddy." Natasha shook her head, "Barnes."

Laura stared blankly at the redhead.

Sensing Laura's confusion, Natasha clarified. 

"Barnes. He's the Winter Soldier. Um," She winced, "The one who shot me in DC?"

Laura frowned and narrowed her eyes, "That guy with the metal arm?"

"Yeah, he was allegedly caught on tape setting up an explosive device outside the building where the signing of the Accords took place in Vienna."

"Right... that was all over the news." Laura said, gesturing to the flat-screen TV sitting idly a couple feet away.

"We all thought it was Barnes behind the attack, so we tried to bring him in. There was a task force, formed by the government to carry out the operation. But they failed." Natasha paused for a couple of beats, "It was Steve who found him first, in Bucharest. But then Barnes somehow convinced Steve that he wasn’t behind the bombing." Natasha pressed her palms into her forehead, "And all that ended up with Steve trying to help Barnes escape the Romanian authorities-"

"And that was when he got arrested?" Laura interrupted, "Steve, I mean."

"Yeah. He and Barnes were transported to Berlin after that.”

Laura shook her head, “After everything Steve has done for us? Why didn’t they at least hear him out?”

Natasha sighed and ran one hand through her hair.

“I knew this would happen." Natasha shook her head, "I asked Steve to stay out of it. But he didn’t listen.” 

Laura's features softened, “They locked him up too?” She inquired.  

“If Tony and I hadn’t been there, they probably would have. But Tony negotiated. And task-force agreed to release him. They took away his shield though."

“I'm sorry." Laura sighed, "He deserves better.”

Natasha's form grew taut. Tension rode her shoulders, and was further exacerbated by the silent anger rolling off of her in torrential waves. For a long moment, her green eyes remained affixed to a spot on the coffee table, blazing with viridescent ire. 

Laura gave her a nudge.

“Barnes is a different story. He was locked up in a tight cell, maximum security. And there was supposed to be a psych eval by a UN psychiatrist, but... Well, actually, that was pretty much the point where everything went to hell."

"He escaped?"

Natasha nodded.

"Maximum security, huh?" Laura said dryly.

"To be fair, the facility's security protocols aren't to blame. Place is about as secure as it gets."

"Then how?" 

"That psychiatrist was a bogus."

"Okay? So it's someone from the outside."

"The whole thing was a setup." Natasha fisted her hand, "We never should've brought Barnes to that facility. We got careless."

"What happened to the real one?"

"No idea. No time to find out."

Laura nodded quietly.

"It all happened so fast." Natasha shook her head, "Took us all by surprise. By the time we realized something was off, it was already too late. Barnes was pretty much out of his holding cell. And the psychiatrist had accomplished what he came in to do."

Laura raised a brow, "And all that," She made a twirling gesture with a finger, "done by  _one_ guy. In a building full of soldiers."

"Mind control." said Natasha. 

"I'm sorry?"

"Mind control. The fake psychiatrist had Barnes under some kind of trance. Brought out the assassin."

"Wait, you mean like some kind of hypnosis? That actually works?"

Natasha snorted, "A few trigger words. That was all it took. Barnes never stood a chance."

Laura shuddered, "Jesus..."

"Anyway, the Winter Soldier fought his way out of the cell. We did try to stop him. Me, Tony, along with a couple of others. But still he managed to get to the helipad.”

“Flew away in a chopper, then?”

“No." A pause, "Well,  _almost."_

"What happened?"

"By the time I got up there, I found the wreckage in the river below the building-"

"It crashed?" Laura sat up straighter.

"Yes."

Laura tried, and failed, to hide a cringe, "And you saw? The whole thing?"

"No. Not all of it." Natasha shook her head, her eyes suddenly fluttered close, "But we checked the security cams." She let out a barely-contained chuckle of disbelief, "Barnes was in the chopper. And it was a good 15 feet off the ground when Steve ran-”

“Oh my **_God…_**  " Laura's hands flew to her mouth, "Don't tell me he-” Laura spluttered. 

“Yep. He jumped up, grabbed the landing gear, pulled the chopper back to the ground just enough before he grabbed a guard rail at the edge of the helipad..." A pause, "The Winter Soldier tried everything. He tried taking the chopper sideways, upwards, or whatever. None of them worked. The chopper only got pulled towards the ground, inch by inch."

"Jesus. I don't even..." Laura threw her hands up, "Just how strong _is_ Steve, exactly?"

"Strong enough to ground a chopper with his bare hands, apparently.” Natasha said dryly.

"Right." Laura shook her head and cleared her throat, "Sorry." She muttered, waving a hand haphazardly, "Forgot that you and Clint were seeing stuff like these every day. So."

Natasha smirked, "You'll get used to it."

"Well," Laura lifted a brow and let out a humorless chuckle, "I'd rather not." 

Natasha answered with a half-hearted shrug and a wry smile. 

“But still, how’d the chopper end up in the river?”

"Desperation, I suppose." Natasha muttered. 

"Pardon?"

"Well, what happens when you can't get a chopper to take off no matter what you do because it turns out there’s some guy holding it in place?"

Three seconds of silence. A gasp, followed by the drop of the penny. 

" _No..._ "

Natasha smirked, "Uh-huh."

"You people are  _crazy._ "

Natasha's smirked widened, "Comes with the job."

"And he actually survived that? I mean, its one thing to pull a chopper down but to have it _crashing_ into you?! _Jesus..."_

“Oh, no, no. He avoided the crash. But when he got to his feet, the Winter Soldier had him by the throat."

Laura cringed, "With that metal arm?"

Natasha nodded, "Cap pushed the chopper’s body off the edge. That's how it ended up in the river below.”

“Right. And then they got away.”

“We’ve got not no eyes on them after that. But, yeah. They both escaped after that. Steve probably knocked him out and dragged him away.”

Laura's eyes narrowed, “Will he wake up as Barnes or the assassin?”

“Well, he was Barnes again when we last saw him. Must have mentally recalibrated after being KO-ed...”

“Oh, so he _did_ wake up. Damn, I was hoping he ended up in a coma or something.” said Laura, drawing a deep chuckle from the redhead.

God, how she missedbeing home. 

"You alright, Lor?" asked Natasha, gliding a palm gently over Laura's forearm, "Haven't seen you this grumpy since the time you were expecting Cooper." said the redhead, her eyes gleaming with something that resembled mirth.

With a shake of her head, Laura chuckled, "I'm sorry. Just ignore me. Please, go on."

“Well, afterwards I guess it was around the time Clint was called in."

At that, Natasha sensed the tension crawling back into Laura; slithering and worming, slowly seeping its way into Laura's comportment, like a snake approaching its prey. 

"Steve was recruiting for a mission when he called Clint." Natasha ploughed on, undeterred, and resolutely determined to see the conversation through no matter how difficult she knew it would get, "We didn’t know what the mission was at first, but he must have found out something from Barnes. Clint was called in for that mission."

"Nat, what was the mission about?"

"Steve said it was to stop 5 other Winter Soldiers from falling into the wrong hands."

Laura gaped, "Wait wha- Five?! Are you kidding me?!"

Natasha sighed, "I wish I was, Lor. _God_ I wish I was."

Laura sank back into the couch, too stunned to say anything. 

Natasha kept going, "If Steve's right about everything, then we'd most likely be dealing with a Level-Omega threat, which is usually a good enough reason to involve the Avengers."

"But I thought..." said Laura after a long while, shaking her head slightly, "I thought Clint said he was done...with that."  

"I...we...uh." Natasha stuttered, momentarily thrown into a loss of words, something which _rarely_ (if not never) happens to the illustrious Black Widow who could speak over fifteen languages with certified eloquence. A jiffy later, Natasha cleared her throat, regrouped her faculties, "It's okay to blame us..." She shook her head, suddenly hyperaware of the her own loose curls tickling the side of her neck where the bruises still stung, "You have every right to. It's just... we shouldn't have dragged Clint into all this, not when he'd already made his choice to walk away back then..." The redhead's hand flew to her mouth, just in time to catch the exasperated sigh ejecting from her plush lips, "God, Lor. We really fucked up. I mean, Nathaniel was only born for like, a  _year_ , for Christ's sake...and now we're the ones responsible for taking his father away-"

Laura's hand shot up, "Nat, stop! Stop! Please. Please don't say that, okay? I don't..." Laura pulled in a breathe, "I don't blame you. Or Steve."

"But stil-"

"I _mean_ it, Nat." said Laura furiously. 

Overcome with a sense of dejection, Natasha backed down. She had a feeling that none of the things she was about to say mattered anyway. She got nothing for Laura. Nothing but empty platitudes. How laughable: fluent in over _fifteen_  languages, had the skills to mindfuck even the Trickster himself, and yet there wasn't a damn thing she could do to ease Laura's pain. It was unfathomable how utterly demoralized she felt right then: being completely helpless during the times that mattered most.   

"It's not your fault." said Laura, who shook her head gently, her brown curls swaying with grace and elegance.

Natasha stared in awe. Even in the worst of days, Laura Barton had managed to exude an aura of comfort and homeliness.

"That life is a part of him, Nat. It's who he is. I think... I think I can see that now." said Laura.

Natasha sighed, "Laura... Please-"

"No. It's the truth." Laura held Natasha's eyes, "He thinks he's hiding it well, Nat." All of a sudden, Laura's expression morphed into a sad, fatalistic smile, as if finally resigning herself to some inevitable will of Fate after an arduous struggle, "But I noticed."

Natasha frowned. "Noticed what?"

Laura broke their eye contact in favor of the coffee table top: smooth, brownish streamlines of oak wood, Clint's own handiwork. 

"That vacant look in his eyes when he polishes his arrowheads... and the way he always keeps his phone by his side, as if he's expecting to be called-in anytime." Laura chuckled, "And the way he literally  _jumped_ at every incoming phone call, all starry-eyed and excited, like some kid in a candy store..." Laura paused in thought before shaking her head, "Yet he calls himself a master spy. Can you believe that?" she said dryly.

Natasha chuckled - a mixed bag of sadness and relief.  

"He missed it, Nat. I can tell." said the brunette, "He missed being out there, in the field, kicking ass." The two women's eyes met once again in a meaningful stare, one that held so much more weight than Natasha could carry. And then Laura unleashed those words whose truth had been known to the both of them for a long while, "He missed being an Avenger."

The homestead air swirled around the room in its characteristics calmness, like a wandering apparition. The night crept forward, with nothing but the bucolic quietness as its companion.

"Sometimes I wonder if..." Laura trailed off.

"If what?" The redhead frowned, already disliking the direction the conversation was taking.

"If we're holding him ba-"

" **No!!** "Natasha averred, her eyes burning with as much conviction and fervor as she could muster; like two burning fireballs; shining beacons whose lights were meant to obliterate the shadows of Laura's doubts. "Listen to me, Lor. You and the kids, you mean _**everything**  _to him, you understand? There is  _ **nothing**_ else in this world that could be more important to him than you guys, okay? _"_   Natasha's gaze softened, "You are Clint's world, Lor..." Natasha looked down, "And...mine, too."

The last few words had left her mouth before she even realized it. God, she couldn't believe she actually  _said_ that out loud. How utterly and _inconceivably_ presumptuous of her! And shit, of all things, why the hell did she have to go and say  _that._  Like, who was she even kidding!? What right did _she_ have to even make such a claim? Hell, she'd consider herself lucky to even have a chance to be a small part of their lives! Anything more than that would just be outright presumptuous to say the least.

Natasha shifted on the couch and turned away quickly so as to conceal her shame from Laura. Not that it mattered, since the words were already out there for Laura to judge. Still, she found herself turning away. She had to hide herself. She couldn't bear the thought of facing Laura right now. Not after her blatant display of brazen shamelessness. Face averted, Natasha replayed her own words, but only to once again find her own selfish audacity outright sickening. Such impudence! Like, how dare she?! Someone like her (a liar, and a murderer of _children_ ) hadn't even the right to have an ordinary family to begin with, much less one that is as kind and loving as the Bartons. The Bartons were so much more than she deserved. She didn't deserve-

She felt herself pulled into a deep, soul-stirring hug, one that smelled like baby powder, and pancakes, and homemade cookies. Natasha's eyes widened in surprise.

And  _yet._

And yet, everything felt right, even though she knew it shouldn't be the case.

It felt so  _damned_ right, as if she really belonged to the family.

Maybe she did.

Maybe it was about time she stopped lying to herself and start accepting the facts. 

Maybe the Bartons' acceptance was the Universe's compensation for all the shit it had put her through during her early years. 

"Thank you." Laura whispered. 

Natasha pulled back, her face already hurting from the wide smile she was sporting, and her eyes burning from billows of unshed tears.

Natasha cleared her throat, "No." she said, slowly shaking her head, and then threw a meaningful glance at Laura,  "Thank  _you_."

_For giving me a home..._

"So, um," Laura said, wiping her cheeks, "The mission?"   

"Right. The mission." Natasha sighed, "Things got a little heated after that. Tony and I had recruited a few new guys as well, for our own mission. But our mission was to bring Barnes and Cap into custody."

"But isn't that-"

Natasha sighed, "We had no choice. It's either us, or the task force. So we figured better us than them. At least we could still _try_ to convince Steve to come in quietly."

"Was Clint already with Steve by then?"

"Yeah. We actually confronted them at some airport in Germany. They were planning to steal a chopper from there-"

Laura tensed, "Where were they off to?"

"No idea. Steve didn't say..." Natasha said a little sheepishly.

Laura eyed the redhead skeptically, "Uh-huh...were you actually  _talking_?Or were you punching each other?"

Natasha blushed, "No." A few beats of silence ensued, with every beat accompanied by Laura's intense stare, "Yes." 

Laura narrowed her eyes, "Yes, we were talking? Or yes we were beating the crap out of each other?"

Natasha raised her hands defensively, "Hey, we  _did_ talk."

Laura groaned, hiding her face in her palms.

"But Tony…" Natasha looked away, "Tony didn’t believe Cap’s story, he thought Barnes had manipulated Steve into helping him escape. So we… uh…"

"Oh my God..." Laura moaned into both palms.

"We ended up fighting each other. But it wasn't that bad....it's just, you know, we didn't...” Natasha trailed off, suddenly taking an immense interest in her nail polish.

"What." Laura loured, her eyes flashed in ire, "You didn't hurt each other, only punched the lights out of each other and gave each other black-eyes? Is that what you were about say?"    

Natasha cringed. Now that Laura had put it into perspective, it did sound a tad silly, if not downright preposterous. 

“Look, I know it sounds bad, but I swear, we really didn’t hurt each other."

Laura quirked a brow. 

Natasha sighed, "We were both pulling our punches, okay? It wasn't any different than how we usually spar, trust me…”

Laura glared at the spy, "You're lucky I love you both..."

Natasha suddenly found herself torn between amusement, relief, joy, and guilt. Relief won out, eventually.

“I thought the bruises were from Clint.” Laura muttered. 

"Excuse me?"

"The bruises. On your neck." Laura said pointedly.

Inadvertently, Natasha's right hand found her way to her throat, an act to regain some semblance of control, and perhaps some form of modesty, as futile an act as it was.   

“Nah…" She winced as her nails grazed upon a particular sore spot, "These were from the Winter Soldier.”

Laura cringed as though she was the one sporting the bruises, "The metal arm again?"

"Yeah."

"You should have that looked at." said Laura sternly, "Maybe I'll call someone..."

Natasha's hand shot out quickly, "No!"

Laura raised a questioning brow.

The spy clarified, "It's not safe!" She grimaced once again, this time at her own inarticulacy. "I mean, nobody knows I'm here. Besides, don't want to risk compromising the farm." Natasha blurted out the first explanation that came to mind, which Laura seemed to accept.

“You believed in Steve's story, then? About his mission.”

“Mm. Sort of. But only after the fighting ended."

Laura's eyes lit up in interest.

"Speaking of. How  _did_ the fighting end?"

"It ended when I managed to help Steve and Barnes escape from the airport. They were trying to board a quinjet... And I let them through, even though I wasn't supposed to. I just…I couldn’t bring myself to fight Steve."

Laura nodded slowly, "I understand." she said, giving Natasha's hand a light squeeze.

Natasha sighed.

"So now he's probably off to God-knows-where, facing off a bunch of deadly assassins…” said Natasha, her own guilt threatening to resurface. 

“You’re worried about him…" remarked Laura knowingly, "Just now...That's why you said you had somewhere to be…you're planning to go help him…”

Natasha rubbed her temples in circles, “He’s outgunned and outnumbered, Lor. And his only backup is a mentally unstable super assassin who could easily be made to turn on him anytime…I should've... I should’ve gone with them… I shouldn’t have stayed behind…”

“Wait a minute. If you helped them escape, wouldn’t that make you a wanted person too?” Laura panicked.

_Guess Phil left out that part..._

“Yeah, I’m a fugitive now. But don’t worry, no one followed me here.”

“Wait, I still don’t quite get it. Why didn’t all the Avengers just go along with Steve? Verify his story.”

“That’s the problem, the Avengers who sided with Tony on the Accords, sans me, didn’t believe in Steve's story. And... uh...those who did were overpowered and..." Natasha threw Laura a cautious look, "...arrested."

Laura's eyes widened.

"Clint included.” said Natasha.

Laura released a guttural moan, “Oh God…”

There was no stopping the tears now, which poured and poured and poured and poured in the most copious of ways. Days of being kept in the dark, hours upon hours of sleepless nights, and now the truth had finally surfaced, only to dash out every last shred of hope that Laura had once held.

Natasha wanted to punch something. To pull out her own hair. To scratch her own face. To kill those bastards in the UN, who were probably sitting smugly in some conference room, acting all high and mighty as if they were some kind of Godly being. _I_ _f thou hast no sympathy for the troubles of others; thou art unworthy to be called by the name of a human:_  yet they had the audacity to inscribe these very words upon their building's entrance.What a load of hypocritical bull _._ She wanted to shove their political agendas up the place where the human digestive system ends. She wanted to grab Tony's little Tin-head and then smack him in the head with it, just so he could open his eyes and  _see,_ that everyone else was hurting.

She wanted to unleash her wrath upon this wicked world laden with so much pain, suffering and injustice.

For once in her life, Natasha Romanoff wanted to break down, to drain her emotional dam. 

But no.

No, she wouldn't.

Right now, she had to be strong. For Laura. 

For Steve.     

Laura spoke after a minute of silence. “Where is he kept?”

“Somewhere in the Atlantic." 

Laura stared at Natasha blankly, forcing Natasha to clarify. 

"It's a high-tech underwater prison facility called The Raft-”

Laura groaned, "Oh,  _great!_ Now it's  _underwater_!"

Natasha raised her hands placatingly. 

"Yes, that's true, but-"

“Is it even safe?!" Laura screamed, "What if it was attacked and wouldn’t they just…" Laura gestured wildly, " _drown_?”

“Laura…look at me…look at me..." Natasha stated firmly, staring deep into Laura's tearful eyes, "That facility is safe, okay? It's very high tech. And besides, Stark’s AI would be monitoring it 24-7. So if anything happ-"

Laura released a noise which sounded like a hybrid between a sob and a snort.

"Stark!! Oh, so _now_ he wants to help..." 

Natasha sighed. God, she was tired. So tired of this mess. She pulled in a breath. "It wasn’t Stark’s idea to put them there in the first place. He didn't know.”

Laura swiped at her cheeks, “How long?" She said, and then she held the redhead's eyes firmly, "How long will they be kept there?”

“As far as I can tell right now, probably for the rest of their lives…” Natasha regretted it the moment those words left her mouth as she was now compelled to pull a quasi-hysterical Laura into her arms, “Laura…Laura…hey…shhh... shhh..." She cooed, stroking a handful of chocolate brown hair.

"God...Nat." Sob. "How co... could...th...this happen..?" Sob. "Nathaniel..... the kids..." Sob. "I don't think I can do it all alone, Nat. I can't..." Sob. "I ju...just can't!" Sob. "N... Not..." Sob. "Not wit...without him."

Something inside Natasha broke. Like a ceramic vase, shattering into smithereens. It hurt to see things turn out this way. It hurt so damn much. And yet there wasn't a damn thing she could do to make it all better.

But she had to try.

So help her God she  _will_ try. Even if it kills her. 

"Lor." Natasha nudged the brunette in her arms, "Lor, look at me. Please..."

Laura did.

And right then, a part of Natasha's soul lit afire. Strength burnt within her psyche with a ferocity of a thousand suns, fueled by anger and determination. And soon, every ounce of that strength were channeled into her eyes. Twin emerald eyes, which housed an inferno that would incinerate Laura's fears until the very last speck. 

"That won't happen. I _won't_ let it. And I don't think Steve would either."

Laura muttered something unintelligible. 

Natasha tightened her arms around Laura, "Lor. I  _swear_ to you. I swear on my _life_ that I'll do everything in my power to get them back."

"But what can you alone do, Nat?" said Laura, who had, by then, fallen limp into Natasha's arms.

Laura Barton.

The woman, who had brought so much joy and happiness into Natasha's tainted, bloodied life; The woman, who had nothing but opened up her home and her whole  _life,_ to someone like her, a liar and a murderer.

And yet.

And yet, what did she give back in return?

More sorrow. More hurt. More reason to shed tears of anguish.

Natasha wanted to scream. She wanted to reach across and grab ahold of Laura's pain before tearing it into a million pieces.

She wanted to share Laura's pain. 

She wanted to cry with her.  

But no. She would not break down. She  _cannot_. 

She had to be strong.   

"When Phil gets here, I’m gonna track down Steve's location and I'm gonna go find him." said Natasha, her voice, although barely above a whisper, was firm, "And then together, we’re gonna rescue Clint and the others from the Raft…I promise you…” Natasha ran her fingers through Laura’s hair once again.

“I…Is that even possible?" Sniff. "Didn't you say the facility is high tech?”

“Steve and I.... We'll figure it out. The tech won’t be a problem, I can hack my way inside and remotely gain control of the facility. Once I gain control, Steve can get in. I know they have tight security inside, but don't forget that Steve's a brilliant tactician. Trust me, he’ll know what to do. And then we’ll get them out, okay? I promise.” Natasha stated firmly.

“But isn't Steve on a dangerous mission right now? What if he……” Laura trailed off.

Something crept along Natasha's spine, something cold. She tensed, and tried everything in her power to ward off a core-shaking shudder.  _Didn’t make it back._ She completed Laura’s insinuation in her mind.

Natasha ran a hand through her scarlet locks, “I know. I’m worried about that too. And that’s why I need to track him down and get him some help ASAP. But before Phil gets here, I can't do anything other than wait."

Laura nodded, "I'm sorry, Nat. I'm so sorry."

If it weren't for the sobriety of the whole situation, Natasha would've laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of Laura's behavior.

 _Is she kidding me right now?_ _After everything I just told her, and_ **SHE'S** _sorry?_

Natasha half-snorted, "Oh, come on. Don't be ridiculous. Why are you even apolo-"

Laura held a hand up, "You have bigger things to worry about right now. And yet I'm crying all over your shoulders and dumping all my problems on you and I just... I'm sorr-"

Natasha grabbed the brunette's forearm in a tight clasp, "Laura. Just  _shut up._ "

"Sorry."

Natasha lifted a warning brow at the brunette, though her eyes bore an affectionate glint, which caused Laura to produce another unintelligible sound - something between a sob and a chuckle. 

"Are you alright?" Natasha asked. 

"Nothing a box of Kleenex can't fix." Answered Laura with a sniff.

Natasha smiled warmly.

Reaching beneath the coffee table, Natasha pulled out a box of Kleenex before handing it to Laura.

"Steve's..." Natasha said after a while, but then hesitated for a few seconds, "Steve's gonna be fine."

Laura stopped blowing her nose and stared back at the spy. 

"How can you be sure?" Laura asked timidly. 

Natasha's countenance turned thoughtful, "He probably knows what he's doing." She paused, as if remembering something, "Coulson seems to think so too."

Laura threw the used Kleenex into a nearby dustbin and sighed. 

"I hope he's okay." said Laura wistfully.

A brief lull ensued as Laura suddenly turned to look at Natasha. And surprisingly, Natasha thought she had detected a slight tinge of mirth behind the residue tears in Laura's irises. 

"I mean, Cooper still needs to get his action figures signed. So he _damn_ well better be okay." Laura said in a slightly offhand manner, but had still managed to throw in a quick smile at the end.  

Natasha released a deep chuckle. "Action figures? Of Steve?"

"Yeah." Laura smiled, "Bought them in sets."

Natasha's eyes lit up in amusement, "Wow. Since when did he become such a fan?"

"Last year." said Laura as she waved a hand, "When the five of you gatecrashed the farm."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Hey, you know, he actually asked me something in secret after you guys left."

"You mean Coop?"

"Yeah. You guys left the next morning, right?"

Natasha nodded.

Natasha remembered that morning. It was the day after the Avengers' first night at the farm. They were departing for Seoul after they'd figured out that Ultron's plans involved Doctor Helen Cho.

"After your jet took off, he came running to me because he was sad to see Clint go. So we talked." recalled Laura. 

"What'd he ask?"

"He asked me, 'Mom? Will I grow up to be as handsome as Uncle Steve?' "

Natasha burst out laughing, "And what'd you tell him?"

Laura sniggered.

"Told him not to worry so much about looks but to focus on being a good man instead." Laura rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Then he went ahead and asked me, 'You mean be a good man like Uncle Steve?' " 

Natasha chuckled, "Oh boy. He's totally whipped."

"Yeah." Laura chuckled, "He's a handful, that kid."

"But wait, I thought I was Coop's favorite..." said Natasha, feigning a look of hurt.

Laura burst out laughing. 

"You still are." Laura said with a grin, "He likes you both."

Natasha smiled weakly, "Well, let's just hope that little Coop gets to see his Uncle Steve real soon. And hopefully not on TV." Natasha paused meaningfully, "Or in a body bag."

Laura's expression softened, "I'm sorry, Nat. I just wish there's something I could do to help..."

"No, no." Natasha shook her head, "I'm fine. I mean, Steve... he's..." Natasha shrugged, "He's got a pretty good track record so far. I mean, the guy was badass during World War 2. And then there's New York, where he led five strangers to victory against an entire army of aliens. Besides, he's smart, and strong, skilled, fast, and resourceful. He won't go down that easily.”

Laura hummed, “He is Captain America after all."

Natasha grimaced, "Then again, he does have this self-sacrificial streak..."

"True. But he still came out on top each time, didn't he? He lived."

Something ignited within Natasha. A twinkle of hope. And then the next thing she felt was an abrupt surge, right in the center of her chest. It was a growing sensation, one that filled her up with warmth. Much like the growth spurt of a massive tree. A tree which bore the fruits of optimism.

Fruits that she would gladly savor.

Maybe Steve would make it after all.

Maybe everything will turn out okay again.

Maybe.

"Yeah, I guess." Natasha answered with a smile. 

"I wonder how he takes it though." Laura wondered aloud.

"Hm?"

"I mean with the burden of so many lives on his shoulders. Adjusting to a seventy-year time skip and all that…” Laura clarified.

Natasha’s expression softened. And at that precise moment, a rare aura of openness enshrouded the usually guarded superspy. Her face brightened as a result of all the warmth it was radiating.

“Beats me." Natasha smiled, "I mean I wish I could tell you. But the truth is I've got no clue how he does it." Natasha paused and turned to look at Laura, "But you know what's crazy?"

Laura's lips pulled into a wry smile, "Crazier than spending seven decades on ice?"

Natasha chuckled, "Well, there's  _that_ , too. But no. This is something else. It's something about his character."

Laura raised a brow, "Wait. Am I hearing you right? Did you just use the word _crazy_ on Captain America's character?"

"No! God, no." Natasha shook her head, "I'm sorry, that came out all wrong. What I meant was despite all the shit he'd been through, Steve's still so..." Natasha tilted her head to one side, "so...  _good._ "

The arch in Laura's brow deepened, "And that's crazy?"

Natasha's expression turned pensive.

"In life, when bad things happen to you, your head gets messed up. And you'd change. Often for the worse." 

Laura hummed, "Right. And you're saying that despite everything that had happened to him, Steve remained good. Stayed true to his character."

Natasha nodded, "A lesser man would've been broken beyond saving. Or worst, surrendered himself to his dark side." A pause, followed by a humorless chuckle, "I've seen it over and over again, Lor. Good men turning evil. Good operatives going rogue. It's nothing new under the sun."

A brief lull ensued.

The air densified to the point of tangibility, as if thickened by the sudden melancholic turn of the conversation.

Laura sat there, half-dazed.  

"Well. You're right, Nat. That does sound kinda crazy."

"It just shows how good of a person he truly is." Natasha remarked casually, although something in her tone had Laura doing a double take.

Laura studied the redhead beside her. Something was different about Natasha. Laura could feel it. Over the years they'd known each other, Natasha had never talked to Laura about the people in her life. Not openly, at least. Other than some (occasional) superficial remarks about other agents from work, or maybe one or two complaints about Fury's over-dramatic tendencies, Natasha had never truly opened up about her thoughts on  _people._ Not about her family. Not about anyone from her past. And most certainly never about a man.

Laura's mind went back to last year, where she'd tried everything under the sun, stars and moon to get Natasha to divulge _some_ details regarding that 'thing' with Banner. And oh, trust her. She _tried._  To no avail. Natasha gave her nothing.

And now the same woman was sitting beside her, openly and _effortlessly_ talking about another man?

Was this the multiverse theory at work?

Had she been unknowingly transported to another Universe?

It was then that a niggling suspicion began taking shape in Laura's mind. But before she could so much as blink, Natasha had once again seized the rein of the conversation.  

"The way he carries himself, Lor. It's admirable to say the least. It's..." Natasha paused and began staring vacantly into the flat-screen TV, "Sometimes, you can tell just from the way he walks that there's something honorable and righteous about his character. It's like, everywhere he goes, he has this  _air_ surrounding him. It's the kind of vibe that earns the respect of others. But I think that's actually what makes him such a great leader though. Because people actually respect him." A half-chuckle of disbelief eased its way out of the redhead's lips, "Hell, there are some who even  _revere_ him. Hey, don't tell anyone I said this, but I think Fury has a man crush on the guy." In the next moment, Natasha's brows drew together in concentration. She stared ahead at the TV, as if she was trying to seek out her words through the screen, "Then, of course, there's also his integrity, which is totally on another level..."

Very gently, Laura Barton leaned back against the couch, the smirk on her face barely contained.

"Sounds like a nice man." Laura drawled, careful to keep her tone neutral.

"That's probably an understatement." said Natasha, "It's like he doesn't have a single bad bone inside him, you know?"

Laura had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep her own smile at bay. She knew a grin would immediately give her away. And as someone who was familiar with the inner workings of Natasha Romanoff, Laura knew better than to do anything that might ruin this _extremely_ rare moment in which the redhead actually takes the time to open up to another living soul, _voluntarily_. So instead, Laura schooled her features and spoke impassively, "Actually, no. I haven't a clue. Might want to fill me in on that."

At that, Natasha let out another chuckle, and this time, Laura couldn't help but notice a glint of something in those green-eyes. Like a concoction of passion and affection. 

"He once jumped in front of a bus to save a child." said Natasha.

"Seriously?" asked Laura in mild shock. 

"Yeah. But he was fine." Natasha rolled her eyes, "Walked it off like it was nothing. And the child's fine too."

"Wow."

"Yeah. And on top of that, there's also the stuff he does on a daily basis." Natasha cleared her throat, "I mean, the common stuff. Like, he's always respectful to others. Always the gentleman." Natasha chuckled, "And also the fact that he's a  _terrible_ liar."

Laura hummed a response. But she held her tongue; had to see how far this could go before her stubborn surrogate sister finally realized just how smitten she was for a certain supersoldier.

With Natasha's eyes still glued to the TV screen, Laura had the opportunity to observe the spy closely as she talked.  

"He's......" All of a sudden, an enigmatic smile adorned Natasha's visage, "One of a kind."

It took literally every fiber of Laura's being to maintain a neutral face right then.

"So...he's special then." A pause, before Laura added, "To you."  

"Yeah, kinda special too, I guess." said Natasha, still completely unaware of the knowing grin now forming on Laura's face.

"Mmm-hmm." 

"You know, he has this… " Natasha went on, gesticulating slightly with her hand, "this… _obsession."_

"Obsession?" At that point, Laura had truly begun to wonder what it was that was so interesting about the TV, which, by the way, wasn't even switched on. 

"Yeah... It's like this obsessive compulsion to always do what's right. Well..." Natasha chuckled slightly, "I suppose you could say that it's one kind of _stubbornness._  Cuz trust me, I  _know_ , since we've been partners for years now." Another chuckle, "Drives me nuts sometimes, I swear." An amused expression formed on the redhead's face, "But it's what made him so special though. It's his brand of," Natasha raised both her hands in air quotes, " _righteous_ stubbornness."

All was quiet.

And having formed her own conclusions about something, Laura Barton sat elegantly in the silence, satisfied. 

The look of amusement faded from the redhead's countenance and was swiftly replaced with a hardened albeit slightly wistful mien, "He acts like such a bull sometimes, with the macho bullshit and all." Natasha shook her head and snorted, "Always charging ahead without considering the consequences, especially if those consequences directly involve him." Another snort, this time with the addition of an eye roll, " _P_ _unching_ his way out of things as if they were all the same as that stupid 1000-pound heavy bag that he likes to destroy back at the compound." Natasha let out a sigh, "But despite all that, I do understand where it's all coming from. Deep down, I know he just wants to save everyone. And to be honest, I think I can even relate to it a bit..." Natasha sighed, "Once you've lost enough people in your life, it sort of gets to a point where you're just tired of losing anymore people around you. And that you'd rather die than see your friends get hurt." A pause, as the spy gathered her thoughts, "I think that's why Steve acts the way he does. The moment he sees trouble, he'd go charging straight into it like a bull." Natasha snorted and then chuckled disbelievingly, "And yeah, once he sets his mind on something? Don't bother counting on him to stop. Cuz he won't." Natasha shook her head, "He just won't stop." Natasha paused all of a sudden and appeared to be reconsidering something, " _Can't_ stop. Can't stop until he'd finally saved eve–”

Natasha stopped short the moment she laid eyes on Laura's knowing smirk. "What?" she asked. 

Laura smiled back innocently, "Oh, no. Don't mind me, Nat. Keep going."

Natasha's face twisted into a frown right then, "Okay, Laura. _What?"_

"Nothing." Laura insisted.

Natasha quirked a brow.

Laura smiled and gave her a little downward-palm wave, "Keep going. You seem to be on a roll. Don't let me stop you."

Natasha scoffed, "What? No. There's nothing else. I'm..." She cleared her throat, "I'm done."

Laura looked back at her in amusement.

"So."

" _Laura..._ " said Natasha in a warning tone.

The warning was ignored. Outright.

“Steve, huh?” Laura drawled, an all-too-smug smirk adorned her features, despite the fact that she was literally sobbing just minutes ago.

“Steve _what?”_ Natasha gritted, already dreading the direction the conversation was heading, and even more so the fact that  _she_ had dug herself into this hole. 

“You like him…” said Laura bluntly.

"Yeah... I mean, who doesn't, right?" Natasha had actually said that with a straight face.

Laura snorted.

“Please. What are we? Teenagers? You know you’re gonna have to do better than that, Nat.”

Natasha groaned.

“Look, it's not what you think...” Natasha said sternly, her spine now as straight as that broomstick peaking out of the pantry.

Laura rolled her eyes in sheer exasperation, “Nat, there was a clear look of passion when you talked about him just now." Laura's hand shot out, thus warding off Natasha's various protests, "Uh huh... Don’t bother denying it. I know what I saw.”

And right then, Natasha looked as if she was ready to bolt out the front door and never look back, personal safety be damned. 

A few beats of silence ensued. 

"You know, I'm actually quite curious, Nat." Laura smiled at the ceiling in half-wonderment, "Like, since  _when?_ Cuz I thought last year you seemed pretty cozy with Banne-"

"Okay! Stop right there!" Natasha rapped out, her palm raised. And if Laura had noticed the  _dangerously_ sweet smile plastered on Natasha's face, she'd outright ignored it. 

"Was it because Banner left? I mean, it'd totally make sense because-"

A series of high-pitched whines burst through Natasha's lips as she planted her face into her palms, "Oh, God, Lor. I'm not talking about this with you."

"Why?" Laura frowned, looking every bit taken aback, "It's not like we're strangers."

"It's just..." Natasha sighed, and then she looked up abruptly, leaving a few strands of scarlet locks hanging off her forehead, "It's just  _nothing_ ,okay? There's nothing going on between me and Steve. We're just..." Another sigh, "We're just close friends."

Laura scooted closer.

"But do you wantto be more?"

"Laura..." Natasha gritted out, and then she blew out a sharp breath in an attempt to clear the hair away from her eyes. 

In the next moment, Natasha felt the warmth of Laura's palm covering hers.

“Nat, you know I care about you, right?"

Natasha felt a sharp pull in her chest. A swift tug. A twinge, the good kind. And she nodded. 

"You're like a sister to me." Laura went on, "So if you ever need to talk, I'm right here."

"Thanks, Lor. But I'm fine, I don't need to talk about this." Natasha paused for a beat, and shrugged, "There's nothing to talk about."

Natasha tried pulling her hands away, but Laura's grip only tightened. 

"Bottling up your feelings _never_ works, and you of all people should know that.” Laura chided before her tone softened, "Nat, do you remember how much of a mess you were when Clint first brought you here?"

Natasha visibly deflated. Mess was an understatement. Fucked up would be the more accurate term.

"You didn't even get better until Clint got you to talk things out. To share your feelings with us." said Laura.

Natasha sighed. She did _not_ see this coming. This was a total blindsided attack. How the hell did things go from _I'm-Trying-To-Keep-You-From-Losing-Your-Shit-Because-Of-All-The-Bad-News-I'm-About-To-Tell-You_ , to, _Hey-Let's-All-Get-Cozy-And-Talk-About-My-Love-Life_?

But wait. There  _was_ no love life. Not with Steve.  _Especially,_ not with Steve. 

Friendship was all they had. Close-knit friendship. A steady rapport. A mutual respect. Okay fine, throw some (occasional) affection and fondness into the mix for that matter.

But that was all there was.

Really.

Which was, of course, enough for her.

She was content with just that. And she  _should_ be. That much was obvious, at least. Notwithstanding the countless of hours she'd spent over the years trying to convince herself of _precisely_ that.

Hours?

My, what an understatement that was. Try days. Or  _months._

Shocking.

Considering the math wasn't that hard to begin with:

Her, the world's most tainted woman. Having a fucking (well, not _fucking,_   ~~~~per se, just... _figuratively_  speaking) rapport with a man otherwise dubbed as the paragon of virtue.

Yup.

It was enough.

More than enough.

More than she _deserved._

Laura's voice broke through Natasha's brooding.

“Look, if you won’t admit it to me, at least admit it to yourself. You know what they say about living in denial, Nat. It's not healthy.”

Natasha’s shoulders slumped forward. A heavy sighed forced its way out of her chest.

_Goddammit, Laura._

Laura Barton 1. Natasha Romanoff 0. 

“Look. It’s complicated…" Natasha shook her head, "I care deeply about him. Probably as much as I’m capable of caring for anyone. But I can’t be with him."

"Why?'

"Why?!" Natasha half-shouted in a tone of deep-dyed incredulity. Then she snorted, and stared at Laura as if the woman had just said the most absurd thing in the entire realm of existence.

"Yeah. Why?" Laura challenged. 

"Cuz I’m not right for him." stated Natasha with emphasis, "He’s too good and too pure…and I’m just… _dirty._ " Natasha shook her head, "And he deserves so much better, Lor. After everything he'd done, and after all the sacrifices he’d made for the world, he deserves so much better. So much better than _me_. I mean, look at me!" Natasha gestured at herself from head to toe, "I’m damaged goods.”

“Wow, I gotta say, Nat. That’s quite a lot of bull in one breath. I’m impressed.” Laura said dryly.

Natasha struggled between wanting to laugh and to scream out her frustration. She settled on an eye-roll.  

“Look, you know I’m not… _normal_. I mean... I’m not…” Natasha sighed, “I can’t have what you and Clint have." Natasha threw a pointed look Laura's way, "Children? A family? A home? Stability? All those things in life that Steve deserves, I won’t be able to give him.” Natasha’s voice cracked a little at the end.

Laura eyed the redhead cautiously. 

“Are you sure that those things are really what Steve wants?” Laura asked pointedly.

“I…well...” Natasha hesitated.

“Well…?” Laura prompted.

"I..." Natasha threw her hands up, "Damn it, Lor. Stop looking so smug. It doesn't suit you."

Laura's smirk widened, "Then start answering the question. And don't try to change the subject."

Natasha stared back at Laura in shock.

Laura Barton 2. Natasha Romanoff 0. 

"Well? Start talking, Nat." 

“They’re what he deserves.” Natasha snapped.

“But are they what he _wants_?”

“They should be.”

A few beats of silence passed. 

“Oh, Nat. You have no idea, don’t you?" Laura observed out loud, "You’ve never talked to him about this befor-”

Natasha snorted, "Talk? Please. I don’t need a chat with the guy to know that he wants those things, Laura. It’s all over his face. I saw the way he acted when he was here a year ago. And I'll tell you what. He was there," Natasha pointed at the door, "standing at the main entrance and staring emptilly into the hallway. Then he just turned around and walked away. Didn’t even re-enter the house until dinner. But his face, Lor. You haven't seen his face that day. It looked so sad. Like he was mourning the loss of something that could’ve been his. He wants this,” Natasha gestured around the house, “All of this. It's what he had missed 70 years ago. It’s what makes him happy.”

“What if you can make him happy too? Ever considered that?”

Natasha scoffed, “Me? Make him happy? Please. The only way I can make him happy is by finding a good woman who can give him all the things he deserves, and those things he clearly wants.”

“And if it's you that he wants?”

“Then there will be some other woman out there who can do _better_ , a woman who is perfect for him.” Natasha stated harshly. _And who actually deserves him. Like Sharon._

“Well then, prepare to be disappointed.” said Laura with a confident smile.

"Disappointed? Why would I even be-"

Laura shrugged, "Cuz to me, you two seemed perfect for each other."

Natasha scoffed, "Oh yeah? How?"

Laura smirked, "Well, for _one,_ you're both _incredibly_ stubborn..."

"What? I'm not-" Natasha tried to cut her off, but was stopped short by an abrupt arch in Laura's eyebrow.

Natasha blushed.

Laura went on, "And then there's also the fact that you both care deeply about each other." Laura leaned back and stared at the ceiling, "And you also understand each other very well. I mean, you said it yourself. You've been partners for years now. And I don't think anybody could be partners for that long without having some kind of chemistry going on."

Natasha sighed, "That's... that's different...that's a work partnership... Chemistry at work doesn't necessarily translate into something personal. It's just not the same thing."

Laura snorted, "Tell me something, would you date someone you can't even work properly with?"

"Of cour-"

"I'm talking about an actual  _relationship_ , Nat. Not the  _bang-you-for-one-night-and-then-forget-all-about-your-face_ type of thing."

Was that point number three for team Laura already? 

_Damn it._

"Fine. We have chemistry at work. So what? I mean, Clint and I work really well together, but that doesn't mean I wanna jump his bones."

Laura smirked. 

"Which brings me to my third point."

There was a  _third_ point? Natasha nearly flipped right then and there. God, did she _actually_ pull one over on Loki four years ago? Did she _really_ do that? Because it sure as hell didn't seem all that likely if she was now being tossed around by this sweet, kind, gentle, motherly, and saintly brunette who clearly didn't know the first thing about being devious.

"You're both physically attracted to each other." In a confident tone, Laura revealed this magical 'third point' of hers. 

Natasha nearly bolted out the house right then. In a sudden fit of paroxysm, Natasha opened her mouth to say something but whatever argument she'd formed was nipped in the bud by Laura's raised hand. 

"Really, Nat?" Laura raised a challenging brow, "You're honestly gonna tell me you don't find _Steve Rogers_ attractive?"

Natasha bit back a curse.  _Damn it, Lor._ That'd be like asking her to say that fish live on land. Or that monkeys can fly. Clearly preposterous notions, and therefore hopelessly impossible.     

Natasha sighed in defeat, "Course not."

Fourth point for team Laura now. And boy did the woman know it, considering that big, fat smirk plastered on her face. A fact that Natasha was determinedto change. And immediately, Natasha's mind found another opening she thought she could use to put forth her next argument.  

"You're still forgetting something, Lor. Steve isn't attracted to-" Once again, Natasha was interrupted. But this time it was by that _look_ on Laura's face, which Natasha was pretty damn sure was meant to make a naughty kid wet his pants. For a moment, Natasha considered completing her sentence. But soon decided against it, seeing as she already felt like squirming in her seat under that stern gaze of Laura's. 

Okay.  _Fine._ He was. Of course she wasn't so blind as to not notice the way Steve looked at her sometimes. And God, there were really times when she felt like she'd literally just burst into flames under that heated stare of his. And not to mention with those clear, blue eyes that were so damn beautiful that it ought to be illegal.

Laura 5. Natasha 0.

A truly humiliating and humbling loss.

"So there you have it, Nat. You're both two attractive, intelligent individuals who, A) work extremely well together, B) have solid chemistry together, C) understand each other extremely well, and D) care deeply for one another." Laura made a show of waving her hand like how a magician would at the end of a trick, " _P_ _erfect_ for each other."

Something stirred inside Natasha's chest. 

"Still doesn't mean I deserve him." Natasha lamented wistfully, "Or that he should to be dragged into the darkness of my world..."

Laura's expression softened. "I don't think that's your call to make, Nat."

Natasha closed her eyes and exhaled, "Laura. I can't in good conscience force him to be with  _this._ " Natasha opened her eyes and slapped an open palm to her chest, "This! Me! The damaged goods who carries a hell of a lot more baggage than the cute blonde next door. I..." Natasha paused, "Steve deserves more. And I can't do that to him, okay? I just can't. I....I can't be that selfish."

For a brief moment, Laura engaged the redhead in an ocular showdown, as if they were still debating the subject only this time with their eyes.

After a minute of stifling silence, Laura spoke softly. 

"But what can be more selfish than taking away a man's freedom to choose?"

Natasha eyed Laura pleadingly, "Laura. Please...Can we not talk about this anymore? Please...I can't. I can't. Not right now."

Laura nodded, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay." Natasha said with a smile, although inwardly she was cheering.

"I hope I didn't cross the line?" Laura asked. 

"No. No." Natasha shook her head, "It's actually kinda nice to know that you care."

Laura smiled slyly, "Can I take that as a permission to talk about this again next time?"

Natasha smirked, "Now you're pushing it."

Laura chuckled and lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. 

Neither uttered a sound for the next few minutes. And the room was quiet except for the sounds of the crickets' nightly choir. Both women seemed content with the silence. Surprisingly, the absence of voices didn't make the ambience any less companionable. If anything, it brought back a sense of familiarity and peace. It then occurred to Natasha that they'd done this before in the past. Her, Laura, sitting quietly in the living room while Clint was upstairs reading the children their bedtime stories. It was nice. She only wished she'd have the chance to do it more often in the future.    

Natasha broke the silence after another minute. But this time, she was careful to keep the conversation along  _safer_ waters. No more talks about her non-existent love life. And most definitely nothing more about attractive, blue-eyed super soldiers with a strange liking for tight T-shirts. 

“I’m so sorry, Laura. About everything." said Natasha, and though her voice sounded barely above a whisper, the regret in it was clear as day, "If I'd taken Steve's side from the start, Steve wouldn’t have had to contact Clint and y’all won’t have to be dragged into all of this...” Natasha sighed, "This is my fault."

Laura shook her head disapprovingly.

“Nonsense, Nat. You and I both know things would end up pretty much the same either way."

Natasha shot Laura a look which clearly said that she didn't buy any of that.

"If you'd sided with Steve, you'd probably be locked up right now. And we both know that Clint wouldn't just sit by and do nothing while you're in jail, Nat." Laura smiled weakly, "He'd probably do something crazy like break you out of jail and then ended up being a wanted man too."

Natasha chuckled incredulously. 

_Guess Laura has a good point._

“I meant what I said." Natasha held Laura's gaze, "I’m gonna do _everything_ I can to get them out.” Natasha stated with a fiery tone, her eyes flashed with determination and strength, "I'll make sure everything's okay again."

Laura reached for Natasha's hand, “I know you will. But you be careful, okay? I don’t want to lose you too.”

A tiny smile formed on Natasha's visage, “Thanks… But I have a feeling that Steve's gonna be doing all the heavy lifting anyway. I’d probably need to stay on the computer."

The conversation came to a sudden lull. It was as if the two women had suddenly reached their daily word quota.

The wordless vibe dragged on as Crickets Philharmonic moved into their second extravaganza. 

Soon, Natasha knew it was time to address the other one-million-pound Yeti in the room.

“What are you gonna tell the kids?”

For a while, Laura stared thoughtfully into the coffee table. And Natasha was just about to interrupt Laura's deep contemplation before Laura threw a casual shrug at her. 

“Just the usual I guess, I'll just tell them that Clint will be away for a long mission with you.” Laura said nonchalantly.

Natasha eyed the brunette blankly. Okay. That certainly went a lot easier than she'd originally thought. Not that she was complaining. 

“Yeah…I guess that’s good. I’d hate to scare children…"

"Nat?"

"Yeah?"

"Once you've gotten Clint out, then what? Is he..." Laura hesitated, "I mean, can he even come back home after that?"

Natasha sighed. "I've asked Phil to provide us with a safehouse. And..." For a brief moment she struggled for the right words, "I think it'd be safer for you and the kids if we stay away from the farm. At least until this mess blows over."

Laura sat motionlessly and stared at her lap, her expression unreadable.

A few seconds later, Natasha added, "I mean Clint can stay here if he wants to, but..."

Laura looked up. 

"You don't think he'd choose to stay?" questioned Laura.

"I think..." Natasha pulled in a breath, "I think he wouldn't want to put you and the kids at risk."

Laura cringed, "It's that bad, huh?"

Natasha sighed, "Yeah. The whole world is coming after us right now." Natasha settled her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands, "And that means every single satellite up in the sky is on the lookout for our faces."

Laura frowned. "I thought Nick said our place is outside of all satellite coverage."

"Yes. But technology can evolve. And there're also contingencies, say, people sending out scout drones all over the place in search for us. Hell, it didn't even have to be something to do with us. I mean, it could be something completely innocuous like, say, an engineering student taking his new drone out for a test fly. And if the drone happens to stumble across the farm?" Natasha snorted, "Chances are that it would have caught one of our faces on tape. And soon, those pictures would be all over the internet."

Laura nodded, "I understand. But where will you guys go?"

"Ideally, we should go some place far, far away from here. That would minimize the risk of exposing the farm's location. I've already asked Coulson for a safe-house outside the States. But the exact location is still up to him."

"So you actually have no idea where you'll be going after this, then?"

"I'll leave that to Coulson's judgement."

Laura hummed. 

Natasha reached for Laura's hand, "It won't be forever. And we'll find a way for Clint to visit the farm safely."

"Thanks."

"It's gonna be okay, Lor."

"I hope so, Nat. But to be honest, after everything you've just told me, even staying here doesn't feel too safe now."

Natasha hid her cringe.

"The farm is still safe. And right now, I've got people making sure that it stays that way." Natasha stated firmly.

"What do you mean?" Laura frowned and went into a state of mild panic, she tried peering out into the darkness through the living room window, "There's someone out there now?"

"Phil has the farm under 24-hour surveillance. It’s uh…two of Phil’s trusted agents." Natasha clarified.

Laura visibly calmed down. 

"Is that okay with you? I mean they're good, and you'd barely notice them." said Natasha.

“Yeah… I guess it’d be better if we have somebody watching our backs." A moment later, Laura tensed up again, "Is the farm in danger?” 

Natasha quickly shook her head. “No, not at the moment. It’s just a safety measure now that Clint’s an outlaw. And since it's the whole world that's coming after Clint, we're not taking any chances. So I've asked Phil to keep a close watch until he thinks its safe."

"Right."

Suddenly remembering something else, Natasha sat up straighter, "Oh, and also, if you have time, please have a suitcase packed in advance, just in case you guys need to evacuate. It’s unlikely that you’ll actually need to evacuate, but, you know, just in case…”

“Okay…yeah…I’ll do that…thanks, Nat.”

“No problem…” Natasha answered.

Sensing that the conversation was over, Natasha sighed in relief and leaned her head back further onto the couch. Laura seemed to be taking things better than expected. And for that, she was grateful.

Natasha was roused from her quiet musings by Laura's nudge.

"Nat?" 

She turned, and saw Laura staring at her. 

"Yeah?"

Laura nodded towards the stairs, “Why don’t you go upstairs. Wash up, and then get some sleep. I’ll wake you up as soon as Phil gets here.”

Natasha briefly pondered over Laura’s suggestion.

She knew the farm was being watched closely. So she probably wouldn't have to stay awake to guard the place. Catching a couple of hours of sleep would be good too. And besides, she'd probably need all the rest she can get, considering the daunting rescue mission she'd had planned for the next few days. 

 _Oh, what the hell._   

A few hours of sleep wouldn't kill. 

“Okay…Laura." Natasha sat up, "but wake me up ASAP if you notice anything suspicious, okay?”

“I will, Nat. Go. Get some rest.”

“I _mean it_ , Laura. You _must_ wake me up if there’s anything, okay? Anything suspicious at all. No exceptions.”

Laura rolled her eyes.

“I will, Nat. Promise. Now, go.”

Natasha stood up from the couch and headed for the stairs, but stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, suddenly remembering the message Clint had asked her to deliver.

“Oh, by the way, Clint said to tell you to check the top drawer of your closet. Your anniversary gift. He said he placed it there before he left to help Cap with the mission; just in case he couldn’t make it back on time for your anniversary.” Natasha said with a wink.

“Oh…okay.” Laura answered, her eyes teary.

“He also said to tell you that he loves you and the kids.” Natasha delivered the final part of the message.

“Wait, when did he have time to tell you all this?” Laura asked curiously.

“Let’s just say that fake fighting weren’t all we were doing during the confrontation at the airport. We also had quite a lovely chat in between fake punches.” Natasha answered with a smirk before turning around and ascended the stairs.

“ _Spies._ ” Laura muttered under her breathe, albeit her features slowly morphed into a smile.

It was Laura Barton’s first real, genuine and bona fide smile in _days._


	5. Respite

_“Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.” – Gandalf Greyhame, in ‘Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring’, by J.R.R Tolkien_

 

* * *

 

The thoroughly-made bed was the first thing Natasha noticed when she entered the guest room. Laid on the bed, beside the pillow, was a neatly folded white bathrobe. There was a jug of water and a rock glass on the night stand. Inside the glass were some pills, which Natasha immediately recognized as Aspirin and Vicodin.

Laura had placed the pills directly inside the glass.

 _Clever._ Natasha thought with an amused smile.

Now she'd have no excuse but to take the pills. 

Glancing around the room again, she noticed an electric hair dryer on the makeup table. Stacked beside the dryer were a couple of clean, folded towels. A large hair comb sat on top of the neat towel stack.

_God, Laura, you are such a saint._

Natasha silently thanked Laura for attempting to take care of her despite everything that had happened.

Natasha was deeply touched by the gesture. The truth was that she had loved Laura like her own sister ever since Laura and Clint got together. There was something about Laura that was just so…lovable. She realized that, like Steve, there was something distinctly and innately _good_ about Laura. At that realization, Natasha vowed to herself to do everything in her power to keep them all safe, even if it meant giving up her own life.

Her duffel bag was unceremoniously hurled on the floor, just a couple of inches away from the edge of the bed. She took another glance around the room to make sure that it was safe and secure. Some would call it paranoid, but she’d prefer the phrase _occupational hazard._

Natasha’s sight inadvertently lingered on the bathroom door.

A déjà vu.

The last time she'd been here (in fact, standing at approximately the same spot), she had witnessed that same door open to reveal none other than Bruce Banner, the man whom she had a brief romantic entanglement with about a year ago. Honestly, she wouldn’t even call it a relationship, since it never quite panned out in the end, but then again, it was about as close to a romantic relationship she had ever gotten with anyone. To tell the truth, she really saw a lot of potential in that almost-relationship with Bruce, so much so, that she had decided (for once in her life) to fight for a chance at love. And damn did she fight _hard_. She fought hard for Bruce, fought hard for the prospect of ‘them’. Well, that was until the man himself chose the easy way out. He ran, and left her behind.

Shaking off the unwanted sensation of familiarity, Natasha quickly entered the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and readied herself for a much-needed hot shower.

 

* * *

 

As Natasha stood under the spray of hot water, her mind descended into a contemplative mood once again. Most likely a side effect of that déjà vu moments ago.

Bruce _._

When the Avengers reassembled after the collapse of SHIELD, she hit it off with Bruce right away. Something about Bruce drew her towards him; like a moth being drawn to a flame; or like the two opposite poles of magnets, inevitably attracted to each other. She noticed that, unlike all her friends, Bruce wasn’t a fighter. Instead, he was the one avoiding all the fight, all the fight that he knew he’d win. And that aspect about Bruce intrigued her, profoundly. Hence, she sought him out, partly to satisfy her undying curiosity about the man, and partly to overcome the deep fear she had once felt towards the Hulk ever since her near death experience (on the Helicarrier) at the hands of said creature.

It started out with just casual chats between them. Just random chit-chats. Small-talks, really. But then Bruce let slip one or two things about himself along the way. Okay, fine, she might have shamelessly used her sneaky spy interrogation tactics and maybe just a teeny-weeny bit of her feminine wiles to coax personal information out of him. But in her defense, it was with good intentions. It was in the service of a friend. Nothing wrong with trying to understand and help out a troubled teammate, right? So. Over time, she learnt of the bits and pieces about Bruce’s endless struggles with anger issues, and also his constant fears of losing control of the Hulk.

" _Sometimes…I don’t even dare to go to sleep, Natasha. God forbid I close my eyes for just a few hours and I wake up to see all these… destruction and death, all by my own two hands…”_ Bruce had told her one night about his greatest fears, giving her a glimpse of what it must feel like to be in his shoes. It turned out that the more she learnt about Bruce’s issues, the more she felt compelled to help him. More and more, she felt the need to comfort him, to give him _peace._ So, she did. Well, it wasn’t like she gave him Black-Widow-style psychotherapy or anything, and _NO_ , she did _NOT_ offer him comfort sex either. She merely did the little things, such as introducing him to her private playlist (tunes she had collected over the years capable of lulling her back to sleep whenever nightmares haunted her nights); mostly Russian lullabies and some ballet music. Really. Just that simple. But then Bruce had found the playlist immensely helpful, and in due course, the lullabies just sort of…became their _thing_ – yes, they had a thing. And she, became Bruce’s go-to-person whenever he felt distressed. Most of the time she’d find herself just sitting beside him while they shared an ear bud like a lovey-dovey couple, and some other times, she would just pass him a flash drive containing a portion of her large musical collection. Heck, there were even a couple of _desperate_ times when she had hummed the tunes straight out of her mouth just for him. Oh, by the way, together, they even figured out some sort of catch-phrase to tame the Hulk. Before that, the Hulk only listened to Steve, but now she could even get the Hulk to initiate non-violent physical contact with her. Achievement unlocked.

Soon thereafter, their trust in each other grew to the point where her Black Widow interrogation tactics were no longer required in any of their conversations. Instead, Bruce became open enough to share things with her on his own volition. Heck, he even showed keen interest in knowing things about _her._ So eventually, they had this… late-night… sharing sessions, going on. Like, they’d spent long hours into the night just talking to each other, sharing their pasts, their fears; everything. But hey, not that it was a one-sided thing between them though, because Bruce wasn’t the only one reaping benefits from their…… well, _thing_. The fact was that she, too, found a great deal of comfort after spending those times talking with Bruce. Because whenever she talked to Bruce, she felt… _understood_. Like she’d just know that Bruce could truly put himself into her shoes and just…understand. She used to ask herself why, as in why Bruce was able to understand her, or why she was able to relate herself so well to Bruce. Though deep down, she was sure that she knew the reason all along. In fact, it was probably the same reason that attracted her to Bruce in the first place.  

 _“Believe it or not, it’s kinda hard to find someone with shared life experience…”_ Steve had once told her implicitly about his criteria for a lover, when they were headed for New Jersey two years ago in that pickup truck he had _‘borrowed’_.

And…that was it. That was the reason. See, Bruce and her, they had shared life experience. Sort of. Okay, maybe not in the literal sense but in a more general sense of the phrase (she really couldn’t imagine herself turning green at some point in her life).  

In many ways, Bruce had gone through things similar to what she had been through, on an emotional level, at least. They both had to live with the guilt of having their hands stained with the blood of countless innocents. They both had to go through their lives with this sick notion at the back of their minds that they were really just monsters made for killing. So, that was why there was always this…this… _understanding_ …they had of each other. She felt like they really just _get_ what the other was saying whenever they talked. And naturally, because of this understanding, sharing things with Bruce was, to her, more like a treat rather than a burden. It became easy and _natural_ to share things when the person could understand and relate to what she had shared. And in Bruce, she had found that person.     

Eventually, those late night sharing sessions with Bruce got bolder, to the extent that she confided in Bruce her deepest and darkest secrets; secrets that were unknown even to Clint. She held nothing back. She told him _everything_ about her past, about the things that she had done and the sins that she was forced to commit. And when she shared, she did so without a single iota of reserve. Because she knew that telling Bruce wouldn’t make him change his opinions about her, or judge her, or change the way he saw her, or change _anything_ between them for that matter. She knew that Bruce would still see her the same way even after knowing her dirty secrets. Because he _understood._

 

* * *

 

The steaming hot water did wonders to Natasha’s aching body. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation the water roused within her body, feeling her tight muscles loosen and relax under the soothing spray. She closed her eyes and sighed. She supposed that it was impossible for her to not think about Bruce at all, seeing how every cube-inch of this guestroom reminded her of the man himself. In fact, it so happened that it was in this guestroom that she had first attempted physical intimacy with Bruce. Heck, back then, she had been _this_ close to literally having shower sex with Bruce, in this very same shower stall she was using. If it weren’t because of the bad timing (they kinda gotten their asses whooped by Ultron and the Maximoffs at that time), Natasha was sure that she would have gone all the way with the man. God knows how much more Bruce’s departure would have hurt if Bruce hadn’t rejected her attempts. Sighing once more, she reached for a bar soap and began lathering it.  

Well, as nice as it was, her increased rapport with Bruce came with a heavy price. It shattered the close connection she had shared with Steve during their partnership in DC. Her relationship with Steve underwent a drastic change by the time she got closer to Bruce, it became strained, thorny, and awkward. The usual banter between them evanesced completely. She’d no longer set him up on dates… well, she _did_ try to, once or twice, but the attempts didn’t really end well (Steve downright walked away from her without saying another word when she tried). Heck, even the conversations between them were almost always strictly business – and that was _if_ the conversations between them even lasted more than 5 minutes. The most noticeable changes, however, were the way Steve addressed her and the way he acted around her. They went back onto last name basis with each other again. Ahem, correction, _she_ didn’t, it was Steve who had first started calling her ‘Romanoff’ again. Besides, the tone Steve used whenever he spoke to her back then was…monotonous, terse, clipped, and…clinical. Almost as if Steve was trying to distance himself from her. Pfft, who was she kidding, Steve _was_ pulling away from her, no sense in denying the obvious. At first, she thought that it was due to their brief separation after she left him at Nick’s ‘grave’. Maybe their spark was just…gone? After all, it was months of radio silence between them after they parted ways at the cemetery. Sure, these things do happen right? When two people lost touch with each other for a long time, don’t they become strangers once they reunite…? Wasn’t that just how things worked? Sure.

Anyways, to Natasha, their separation all those months after DC had been a plausible enough explanation for Steve’s sudden withdrawal from their shared camaraderie, and, well, she _was_ pretty satisfied with that meagre explanation for a while. At least until Clint (the smug know-it-all busybody) came along and debunked her whole theory.

 _“Call it the Hawk’s infallible visual prowess”_ , Clint had told her before he began his long lecture about why her theory didn’t make sense.

In Clint’s exact words to her, _“Just look at you and I, Nat. Back in our SHIELD days, we both went on deep undercover missions before, right? And during those missions, it was complete radio silence between us, we didn’t contact each other for weeks, and sometimes even months on end. Heck, I think the longest we’ve gone without contacting each other was more than a year. But here’s the thing, when the mission’s over, did you see me pulling away from you? No. I didn’t, Tash. Things were still good between us, nothing’s change between us, fundamentally. So, I’m telling you, whatever it is that had Cap pulling away from you? It ain’t because of the brief separation between you two. It’s something else entirely. And I think you know what it is…”_ After much feigning ignorance and deflecting on her part, Mr. Hawkeye went further to reveal his observations that Steve harbored non-platonic feelings for her, and that was the reason Steve pulled away. Partly because Steve didn’t want to get in the way of her happiness with Bruce, and partly because it hurt him too much to watch them together. Well, as clichéd as that sounded, Natasha realized that it was entirely plausible.

Afterwards, she had decided to test out Clint’s little theory, hoping that for once in her lifetime she could triumph over the ‘infallible visual prowess of Hawkeye’. She started paying close attention to Steve whenever she hung around Bruce. The sneaky spy in her had purposely chosen to do her lovey-dovey-lullaby-humming-sharing-ear-buds thingy with Bruce right in front of Steve _and_ in spots within the Avengers Tower’s surveillance coverage. _And then_ , she would secretly access the surveillance footages just so she could watch Steve’s reactions to her intimate interactions with Bruce.

The result of her little test?

Well. Let’s just say that the Hawk never misses. That smug bastard.

Truthfully, she was flattered, that someone as good and honorable as Steve would even be interested in her romantically. And if she was _completely_ honest with herself, she’d say that she, too, had once harbored romantic feelings for Steve, but had buried those feelings right at that cemetery in DC.

Natasha remembered her own words back then, when she told Steve about calling the ‘Nurse’. 

 _"W_ _ould you do me a favor? And call that nurse?”_ She remembered saying those words for the sole purpose of strengthening her own inner resolve to let Steve go and walk away. Those words, and the mere thought of Steve _kissing_ and _holding_ some other women, induced a sharp pang of jealousy right down to her core, yet she went ahead and said them, because she felt that it was the right thing to do.  

 _“What was her name again?”_ She recalled feeling a stab of hurt and jealousy when those words spilled out from Steve’s mouth, implying his interest in the ‘Nurse’. Yet she stood firm and soldiered on, determined to finish her mission. Her mission to bury her feelings for the good Captain.

 _“Sharon… She’s nice…”_ She remembered her own voice faltering when she uttered that name. She remembered mouthing those words with a quick avert of her eyes, unable to look into the intensity of Steve’s eyes as she spoke. Partly because of fear, fear, that those baby blues would lure her back in, making it impossible for her to say goodbye. And partly to prevent Steve from noticing the tears that had welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill down the apple of her cheeks at any moment.

 _Yes, Sharon’s nice. A woman who deserves you. You have no idea how much I want you, Steve. But I can’t have you because I’m not right for you. Please, hate me. Blame me for everything. For lying to you back in the Lemurian Star. Hate me for everything, so that it’s easier for me to walk away from you._ She remembered chanting those words in her mind like a mantra over and over again as she fought back her tears.

 _“She’s not a nurse.”_  Steve had said to her back then.

And, Steve’s show of interest in Sharon was precisely what Natasha needed to complete her mission.

Steve delivered the opening quip.

So she delivered the punchline and sealed the deal. _“And you’re not a SHIELD agent…”_

Mission accomplished.

Finally, there was that last kiss she had planted on Steve’s right cheek before she left. That was meant to be her goodbye kiss, a final ritual representing the relinquishment of whatever feelings she had once felt for America’s Golden Boy. All for one straight-forward and simple reason: because Steve deserved so much better than someone with a goddamn bloody ledger.

Those tears that she had held back in front of Steve spilled from her eyes the moment she walked past the cemetery gates. And they never stopped flowing, not until she finally reached her Corvette. 

Knowing the true reason (as much as she hated it, she had to admit that Hawkeye was spot on in his observations) behind the shattering of her connection with Steve by no means instigated her to mend her relationship with Steve. No, far from it. Instead, it compelled Natasha to let things stay the way it was. Besides, she figured that Steve would get over whatever feelings he might’ve had for her in due time when he meets someone better (that bloody nurse would be a great candidate, for instance). All she had to do was to let him do just that, which, for her, meant staying the hell away from Steve and just let him pull away. No sense in dragging Steve into her darkness when there were so many people out there who actually deserved his heart. Steve needed someone _good_ and pure, someone whom he could have a family with, someone who deserved him, and someone whom he could build a future with. That someone wasn’t her. A monster like her would only be poison to Steve. She wanted the best for Steve because Steve deserved the best. She had to let him go. Which was precisely why she made no attempts to reconcile with Steve when the Avengers reassembled after the fall of SHIELD. Besides, at that time, she had Bruce; a man she felt she could be with without the fear of tainting him, someone she felt that she deserved, and someone equally dark or perhaps even darker than herself.

By the time Ultron happened, her interest in Bruce turned romantic. Bruce was a good man after all. Plus, there were obvious connection and understanding between them. And to her, those were compelling enough reasons to pursue a serious relationship with Bruce. Admittedly, there were still times where she’d find herself comparing between Bruce with Steve. Both were good men, although Bruce-good was different than Steve-good. Steve-good was pure; refined. Bruce-good was a bit…darker....guilt-driven…quite similar to her own in a way, but still good nonetheless, because of the presence of good conscience. People such as Bruce and herself started what they did in order to _atone for something._ Their acts were often guilt-driven. But Steve Rogers... _God_ …Steve Rogers was in a completely different _league._ Steve did what he did completely under his own volition. He _volunteered_ to protect the world _despite_ his obvious physical disadvantages before the serum. Any lesser man would’ve undoubtedly used any physical disadvantages as an excuse to avoid that responsibility, but certainly not Steve Rogers, because Steve Rogers was a man of the top-most quality. Steve Rogers was humanity at its absolute best. Bar none. Natasha had absolutely no doubt that sickly-and-scrawny-Steve would have run straight into the line of fire without so much of a second thought simply because _he could still run_. See? Now _that_ , was the true essence of Steve-good, boundless conscience with the addition of the endless will to _act_ and to sacrifice. Steve Rogers was the very image of a man Natasha Romanoff didn’t deserve. Bruce’s emotional baggage, on the other hand, was something that she could totally relate to, because it was _somewhat_ similar to her own. So in essence, being with Bruce was equivalent to finding shared solace between two broken souls. A safer, compatible and guilt-free relationship – a relationship that Natasha Romanoff _probably_ (there might just be a chance that she didn’t deserve Bruce too) deserve.

How far was she willing to take her romance with Bruce, some might ask? Well, for those who asked, it might be helpful to know that it was in this very same house and in this very same bedroom that she had first suggested to Bruce that they both run away together. Yes, that’s right, run away together, _elope._ Avenging be damned. Saving the world be damned. That’s pretty damn far, right? Only, that plan didn’t quite work out. Because Natasha had underestimated the inner good within herself. She could’ve ran away when Bruce rescued her from Ultron’s captivity; there was literally _nothing_ stopping them from just eloping and disappearing together right then, right there. The coast had been completely clear. But the hero within her took over. She _chose_ to stay back and fight for the people of Sokovia. She _chose_ to put her own chance at happiness on the line in order to save the world. It was the first time that she _truly_ felt like an Avenger. In the end, Bruce left without her. She was hurt, undoubtedly. It hurt that she opened her heart to a man only to have it all thrown right back to her face. It hurt that Bruce left her behind without so much as a goodbye. Another part of her, however, was quite amused by the universe’s twisted sense of humor. Because what Bruce did to her back then was the exact same thing that she had done to Steve at the cemetery! Bruce left because he didn’t trusted himself enough to keep Natasha out of his darkness the same way Natasha walked away from Steve because _she_ couldn’t trust herself to keep Steve out of her own darkness. But, at least, Natasha understood Bruce’s motivations for leaving. That gave her some form of closure and took away some of the hurt she felt due to Bruce’s departure.

THUNK! The bar soap slipped from her hand and dropped onto the porcelain bathroom tiles.  

 _Speaking of hurt, damn…my back is killing me, maybe I really should take those pills._ Natasha inwardly cursed as she tried to bend down to pick up the bar soap. Giving up on bending her back, she squatted down with her back straight to pick up the soap instead. She remembered being in the midst of delivering a fake kick to Clint’s face before being flung a good 30 feet into a steel container. Her back took the full impact. Clearly, Wanda couldn’t tell the difference between a fake kick and a lethal kick. _Damn it, Wanda, you really need to work on your observational skills._

After finally completing the excruciating task of soaping herself, Natasha reached for the shower shelf and grabbed a bottle of shampoo to clean her greasy hair. Natasha lifted her arms above her head to begin shampooing her hair. Big mistake.  

She winced and bit down hard on her bottom lip as a sharp pain coursed through her spine. And she hadn’t even begun shampooing yet. _Definitely taking those pills now._ Seriously, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had gotten hurt so bad that she could barely lift her goddamn arms – yes, she was just _that_ good in combat. Gunshot wounds and Hulk attacks aside, none of her past enemies had dealt that much damage to her body with only one single blow, _ever._ Not even the Winter Soldier. Granted, none of her past enemies could move stuff around with their minds. Sighing, she made a mental note to herself to be extra-extra-extra cautious in the future when dealing with people who have freakish, telekinetic powers. God, she really missed those days when hand to hand combat was the only ‘super power’.

Because of the pain, Natasha fleetingly thought of abandoning her shampooing task, but scoffed at the idea almost immediately. _Pfft_. Like a little pain was gonna stop _her_ from getting the job done. As if! Letting out a frustrated growl, she gritted her teeth, pushed through the pain and shampooed her hair. No amount pain could match her tenacious nature to get the job done. Most of the time, she had used work as a distraction from the pain she felt, especially emotional pain. It was what she did best, ignoring the pain and burying herself in work. She got hurt? She picked herself up, mended herself and fought back twice as hard. Well, that was precisely what she had done to deal with the emotional hurt caused by Bruce’s untimely departure.

Shortly after Bruce’s departure, she came back stronger and plunged into her role as the co-leader of the new Avengers. Steve had been incredibly respectful and supportive, and for that, she was extremely grateful. He did not once push her about the demise of her relationship with Bruce. He had given her space to sort out her own feelings, and she appreciated that, truly. Steve just stood by her side, silently, like a rock that she could lean on. Eventually, she found herself rebuilding her connection with Steve once again; it wasn’t intended though, she didn’t plan on rebuilding her connection with Steve at all. It just… _happened._ Naturally.

They had fallen back into their usual rhythm with great ease. Within a week of the new team’s assembling, Steve started joking around with her again. The terse and no-nonsense Steve Rogers from the time of Ultron had once again transformed into the smartass who willingly participate in their daily repartee. They even made it back to first name basis again, and in fact, Steve even started calling her Nat.

Things were pretty perfect in their ‘reconciliation’ during the time they co-led the New Avengers, well, okay, except maybe for one minor ‘glitch’. It was an incident so amusing that it’s near unforgettable. It happened during one night after a tough team mission, when the whole team gathered at a bar down town for a couple of drinks to wind down. Steve seemed pretty excited and chipper about it at the beginning – in fact, it was Steve himself who had suggested the outing. After about an hour or so into their gathering, she found herself getting a _little_ tipsy from all her vodka. So there was this bunch of guys who came up to them, mostly to get something signed by Steve, but there were 2 guys who tried to flirt with her. Look, she was tipsy and maybe just a little bit playful, so she flirted back. The flirting went on for about 2 minutes or so before she heard a loud crack from beside her. Despite her tipsy state, her training kicked in so she immediately glanced to her sides to check for threats; but what she saw amused her. She saw Steve (seated on her right) frantically cleaning beer off his shirt and pants. The beer bottle that was in Steve’s hand just moments ago was reduced to shattered pieces, most pieces were scattered on top of the bar table, some dropped onto the floor near her feet. When she asked him about what happened and if he was alright, Steve merely averted his gaze and muttered something about ‘forgetting his own strength’ under his breath before excusing himself to the men’s room. And then she glanced around her again, but this time it was to check if the other Avengers ever saw what she had seen, but the others seemed to be occupied in their own conversations. Plus, the music was kinda loud so she assumed that none of the others had seen or heard it. When Steve returned from the men’s room, his demeanor was almost back to normal, _almost._ He still appeared slightly tensed, and his smiles were a little forced. So she attempted to get Steve to loosen up again. And it just so happened that she noticed a group of women (seated on their left) stealing glances at Steve the whole time they were there, so she told Steve about it, and asked him to go chat the women up. _Okay, not the best of ideas, in hindsight._ Steve merely turned around in his seat to face her with that ridiculous fake smile of his and told her that he needed to leave. He then stood up and left the bar, which was uncharacteristic of him since Steve was usually the last person to leave during these team bonding sessions. She tried not to read too much into the incident back then, but there was just one teeny-weeny little thought niggling at the back of her mind. There was something about Steve’s behavior which made her feel edgy that night. It made her uneasy. Okay, fine, she panicked. There she said it. Panic. As in those whopping, balls out, blowing-air-into-paper-bag type of panic. Because at that moment she thought that Steve _might_ have been jealous of the dudes she had been flirting with. She thought that maybe, Steve still had… _feelings,_ for her. Dangerous feelings. Feelings, which she wasn’t ready to address. It took her everything to walk away from him the first time at the cemetery. And if she was being honest, she really didn’t think she would be able to walk away for a second time. And that was _dangerous._ Perilous. Not being able to walk away was dangerous. She could never forgive herself if she was somehow responsible for ruining Steve’s future by dragging him into her own darkness. If there was anyone’s future that she wouldn’t ever risk, no matter how badly she wanted to be a part of it, it was Steve’s. When she confronted him about his behavior the following morning, he dismissed her concerns and told her that everything was fine. He made no mentions about being jealous or about his feelings or anything at all, just told her that everything was fine. Natasha could always tell when Steve was lying, but back then, she honestly couldn’t detect any lie. His pupils weren’t dilated, and his breathing was even. Hell, he was even able to look her in the eye when he told her that everything was _just fine._ In the end, she supposed that he was telling the truth, because he _did_ looked fine that morning; at least he wasn’t disappointed in her or anything, or at least he didn’t pull another ‘Romanoff’ on her again like during Ultron’s time. In fact, when the both of them were heading out to attend an ad hoc meeting in town that same morning, Steve had even requested to ride along in her car to the meeting, said he just wanted spend time with her and discuss meeting details before the meeting took place. And after that day, they never spoke of the incident again. So that was it, that little weird and amusing incident.

Also, they began hanging out with each other more often, and usually stayed overnight in each other’s personal quarters to plan missions and to sieve through new intel. Eventually, Natasha slowly found herself lowering her defenses around Steve. She began feeling more and more comfortable around him, and as a result, became more likely to open up to him emotionally. The proof for that was this one time when she returned from a tough solo mission in Russia. The mission reopened a lot of her old scars, so when she got back to the New Avengers’ Facility, she headed straight to her quarters without greeting the team. She needed to be alone, to lick her wounds in private and to put herself back together. But when she entered her room, she was greeted by a pleasant surprise. Sitting on her nightstand was a bottle of her favorite drink, vodka. And beside the bottle were two picture frames. When she examined the frames, what she saw brought tears to her eyes. They were 2 beautiful sketches of _her_ , both done in exquisite detail. They weren’t black and white sketches, both were sketched using colored pencils. The first one was a sketch of her as a ballerina. But the second one was more… allegorical. The second frame contained a full body sketch of her in her catsuit…only that she had a pair of wings and that there was a halo above her head. Her whole body was ethereally _glowing_ and both of her feet were elevated from the ground as if she was flying. And that wasn’t all, in that sketch, she even carried a thick book with her name, ‘Natasha Romanoff’ carved on the book’s front cover. The book was white in color and it was glowing. She knew right then what it was that Steve was trying to convey. Steve was trying to remind her that she was an angel, not a monster. The thick book represented her ledger, so Steve was also telling her that her ledger was white and _cleansed_ instead of red. She grabbed the vodka and her clothes and headed straight for Steve’s quarters right after she saw the sketches. That night, she stayed at Steve’s and they talked; her about her dark past, and him about his pre-serum days and his haunting guilt after losing Bucky. Heck, Steve had even shared with her a touching story about his mother and his near suicide attempt while he was younger. Well, it wasn’t like she didn’t share anything of her own, she did share quite a bit that night… just… okay, _fine_. Admittedly, she didn’t tell Steve _everything_ like how she did with Bruce. She left out the details that she wasn’t yet ready to share. She had done terrible things in her past. Evil things. Despicable things; things, which good people like Steve abhorred and loathed. That was why she could never bring herself to reveal everything about her pasts to Steve, because she didn’t think that Steve would understand; heck, she didn’t think that Steve would even look at her the same way anymore if he found out about the things she had done in the past. Every time when she pictured herself coming clean to Steve, it would always end up with images of Steve feeling revolted by her, of him hating her and casting her aside. _Every_ time. She couldn’t bear having Steve look at her with repulsion, like she was some sort of monster. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing esteem in Steve’s eyes. And God, the mere thought of losing Steve’s friendship would _ruin_ her if not kill her. Anyway, ever since that incident with the two sketches, she shared a close-knit emotional connection with Steve. She felt that they were closer than ever, as close as two platonic friends could ever be. She treasured the 2 sketches dearly, in fact, she packed both of them in her duffel bag before she left the facility.

 

* * *

 

Once she completed the agonizing task of shampooing her hair, Natasha stood under the hot stream once again and began rinsing herself. The soothing warm water had her mind switching gears to more recent events. She remembered being present at the church which held Agent Margaret Carter’s memorial service. Not wanting Steve to be alone wasn’t the only reason for her showing up at the church. She knew that Steve probably wouldn’t be alone since Sam clearly went with him. The real reason she was there, was that she wanted to comfort Steve _directly_ , and to _be there_ for him. She wanted to see with her own two eyes that Steve was okay. They shared an intimate conversation inside the church hall after the service. Steve had been standing alone in the nave when she walked up to him. She remembered the way Steve leaned his body against a pew as they talked, his face so vulnerable and open. She had no doubt that the person she was talking to back then wasn’t the stoic Captain America, it was the little guy from Brooklyn instead; the real Steve Rogers. That day, God, when Steve looked into her eyes with an expression of softness, vulnerability and trust, she truly felt a sudden urge to kiss him. And what scared her shitless was that she almost did. So much for burying her feelings for Steve. But she didn’t kiss him, of course. Because it wouldn’t be right. The love of his life had just died, and she knew how much Peggy meant to Steve. Kissing him so soon after Peggy’s death would be disrespectful. But God, she had wanted to… she desperately wanted to just close the distance between their lips and –

“GASP!”

Natasha jumped. The feeling of the icy cold water on her body officially ended her long trip to memory lane. _Shit, guess I must’ve used up all the hot water._ Damn, just how long had she been standing under the shower? She gave her body a quick once over and was glad to notice that the soap and shampoo were all thoroughly rinsed off. With a sigh, Natasha turned the faucet, stepped out of the shower stall and toweled down. A minute later, she walked out of the bathroom in her bathrobe, grabbed the hair dryer and started drying her hair. She had let her hair grow out again after Bruce left. _Maybe,_ just maybe, it was a subconscious act that revealed her inner desire to get closer to Steve once again – even though her conscious mind had no plans in doing so. She didn’t know if Steve or any of the others noticed, but all the times she had long hair were the times when her bond with Steve was strong, and it was the complete opposite for all the times she had short hair. (AOU: Nat short hair, The Avengers: Nat short hair, CATWS: Nat long hair, CACW: Nat long hair, Food for thought)

After setting the hair dryer back in place, Natasha walked over to the night stand and took the pills Laura had left for her. While setting the glass back down onto the nightstand, her eyes caught sight of the photo frames peeking out of her duffel bag. She picked up the one with the angel, laid her body down on top of the covers and continued her endless admiration of the sketch. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second, but she willed herself to keep her eyes open, just so she could continue staring at the sketch. Seeing the sketch often felt like an out of body experience, it was as if she was looking at herself through Steve’s eyes. If only she could truly see herself the way Steve did, if only……

Then everything went dark as exhaustion took over.


	6. Aide

_“I didn’t bring the cavalry… I AM the cavalry.” – Luke Hobbs, Fast and the Furious 7_

 

* * *

 

“Nat…”

“Nat…”

“NAT…”

Natasha jolted awake. Feeling the light sting in both her eyes, she blinked twice before glancing towards the door. Laura was standing at the doorway, her right hand placed on the door knob.

“Hey…sorry to wake you, but Phil’s here.”

At the mention of Coulson, Natasha felt the remnants of sleep dissipate from her brain.

“Hey, Laura…thanks for waking me, how long was I out?” Natasha asked and pulled herself out from under the covers…

 _Wait a minute, when did I ever get under the covers?_ Natasha wondered to herself.

“Oh, about 6 hours or so. Its 5 a.m. now” Laura answered.

Natasha stood up from the bed so abruptly that her body was swarmed by a sense of vertigo. _Must be the pills._

“6 hours?! It took Phil _that_ long to get here?” Natasha blurted out, and when she could no longer remain standing, gently plopped herself down onto the bed.

She realized that she was still clad in her bathrobe.

“Yeah, I came up here to wake you as soon as he arrived. That was 5 minutes ago. He said that there were some unavoidable delays. He’s in the living room now.” Laura answered as Natasha reached for the comb on the make-up table.   

“How did I get under the covers? Did you get me under the covers?” Natasha asked, a playful smirk plastered on her sleep-deprived-yet-still-so-flawlessly-beautiful face as she ran the comb a few times through her hair.  

“Yep, I did. Came in to check on you after noticing that the hot water had run out. I thought you fainted in the bathroom or something. Then I found you asleep on top of the covers, so… I tucked you in. Oh, and that’s quite a nice picture you were sleep-hugging by the way…” Laura replied with a smirk of her own.

“Picture? What pic…?” Natasha’s brows scrunched up in confusion. _Oh._ Oh.

“I took the frame out of your hands and placed it on the nightstand.” Laura said, the smirk never leaving her face.

Natasha’s eyes flicked towards said furniture and saw the elegant Handel-Blackford picture frame standing diagonally atop the nightstand. The angel figure of herself stared back at her, beautifully. A soft glint emanated from the sketch as light from outside the bedroom door reflected on the flawlessly smooth glass surface of the frame, overall, giving the tiny body of her angelic doppelganger a breathtaking radiance.

Suddenly realizing that she might have been ogling at the frame for a tad bit too long, Natasha’s gaze snapped back to Laura’s. And from the playful glint in Laura’s eyes, Natasha knew that she was in for a major goading session by her surrogate sister.

And so it began…    

“Steve really had such _great_ artistic talent doesn’t he? What great hands he has. Oh, and a damn fine set of eyes too; I mean capturing all the details of your figure and all…” Laura quipped, firing off the first shot. Natasha blushed slightly before quickly recovering.   

“And a good morning to you too…Laura. You know, for a woman whose husband is currently incarcerated in an underwater pressurized container, you sure sound chipper. Must be _some_ anniversary gift Clint left in your wardrobe to make you _this_ happy.” Natasha gave back as good as she was given.

Laura chuckled slightly at that.

“Ooh yeah…. It certainly did. You see, unlike a certain someone…I actually admit it when a man makes me happy…You know what, Nat? Maybe you should try that for a change... who knows, might be good for you.” Laura replied wittily.

Natasha gaped at Laura, unable to formulate a response. _Damn the Vicodin._

“I’m gonna go ahead and start making breakfast. From the looks of it, you’re gonna need coffee… _A lot_ of coffee.” Laura said before turning to leave the doorway.

“Yeah, okay. Tell Phil that I’ll be down in 10.” Natasha responded, raising her voice slightly since Laura was already 5 feet away from the doorway. Laura acknowledged the response by throwing a smile over her shoulders.

When Laura was out of sight, Natasha smiled amusingly.

_That woman is sharp. How the heck did she even know about Steve’s artistic talents? It can’t be the internet because the internet has so much junk that it’s difficult to tell the correct information from garbage… and she sounded so sure of herself, so it means that whatever source she used must be a legit source…_

 

* * *

 

The answer came to Natasha when she was descending the stairs, dressed in the same outfit she wore when she arrived at the farm. _The Smithsonian, of course_. A lot of legit information about Steve could be found there. His artistic talents, his pre-serum life, his hobbies and many others. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw Laura preparing breakfast. Glancing towards the living room, she saw the distinct profile of Phil Coulson, seated on the couch with his back towards her.

_It’s show time._

“Good morning, Phil. What took you? You know, one would expect you to pull a quicksilver stunt when the life of your childhood hero is at stake. Don’t tell me that you’ve officially resigned as President of the Captain America fan club, because then I’d know for sure that hell had frozen over.” Natasha sass-greeted as she strode confidently towards the living room.

Phil stood up and turned around as soon as he heard Natasha’s voice.

“Oh, how I’ve _missed_ your snark, Natasha. It’s one of the reasons why I absolutely hated Fury for bringing me back alive.” Coulson deadpanned.

A smirk was all Natasha gave him.

Coulson began explaining his delay.  

“The quinjet arrangement was a little trickier than I had expected. Couldn’t get one from the usual places without rousing suspicion. Had to sneak one out from the Theta Protocol Helicarrier. Figured that something which came out from a non-existent Helicarrier would by extension be non-existent, that way people won’t realize that a quinjet is missing and start asking questions. And… _MOSTLY_ cleaning up your mess.” Phil answered, giving Natasha a pointed stare.

_Oops. He knows. I’ll probably never hear the end of it. Dang._

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Natasha averted her gaze, knowing full well what Phil was referring to.

“Oh yeah? What made you think that stopping a sports car that was travelling at 205 miles per hour in the middle of a highway was a good idea? Oh, and what about the fact that you were driving at 205 miles per hour while you were on the run? Any idea how much attention that would draw? Satellite imaging caught the whole damn thing. Took me a couple of extra hours to clean that up.” Phil stated accusingly.

“Right. Sorry. Something came over me…” Natasha said apologetically.

Coulson’s gaze softened, but he said nothing. And Natasha appreciated that, the last thing she needed was somebody else’s pity, especially from somebody she respected immensely.

“It’s okay. I’ve got everything covered. The hideout that you asked for, I found a suitable one. Long before SHIELD collapsed, Fury suspected that SHIELD had been compromised, so he created 5 different hideouts in case of contingencies; 2 were in the States, 3 were outside the States, all off SHIELD records obviously. You guys will be using the one located in Stuttgart, Germany.” Phil explained.

“Right. Sounds good. Does it come with–” Natasha was interrupted before she could finish her question.

“Yep, with training facilities, weight rooms, super computers, secure internet access and everything else that a group of super powered individuals might need. Back then, Fury prepared this hideout especially for the Avengers just in case he needed to assemble the Avengers to deal with SHIELD’s compromise.” Phil explained smugly.

_How did he know? I never told him that-_

At Natasha’s slightly shocked expression, Phil continued, “I know the hideout’s intended inhabitants, Natasha. You were planning on rescuing the arrested Avengers from the Raft weren’t you? Wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

 _I guess Phil really does know everything._ Natasha thought to herself. Nonetheless, she was relieved that everything had been arranged smoothly.

“Thanks Phil. The quinjet’s outside?”

“Yeah. Specialized for stealth Ops. Full retro reflective panels, near invisible from distances greater than 50 meters. Undetectable by most standard radars, you can literally enter and leave most airspace unnoticed. Weapons and food supplies already stocked inside. Exact coordinates of the hideout already programmed in it.” Phil explained.

“Okay. Perfect. Do you have a SHIELD issued laptop and the tracking software?” Natasha asked

“Got it right here.” Phil said while he picked up the suitcase beside him.

Just then, Laura interrupted their conversation.

“Hey guys, I’m so sorry for interrupting, but breakfast’s ready. Figured you guys might need to grab a bite before leaving, you guys are leaving soon right? Nat was saying last night that she had someplace to be?” Laura asked politely.

“Natasha’s leaving after breakfast, to go find Cap. I can’t go with her because I can’t leave my post. While she’s gone, I’m staying here until a second quinjet comes to pick me up, figured I can use the time to give you a full briefing about the protective detail that I have placed on the farm. Is that okay with you?” Phil spoke to Laura.

Natasha was halfway through booting the laptop from Phil’s suitcase.  

“Yes, of course. And you can stay as long as you like, you’re always welcomed here, Phil.” Laura answered kindly.

“Thank you, Laura. Now, breakfast, shall we?” Phil said.

 

* * *

 

Three pairs of eyes stared intently at the laptop screen. All three were shocked by what they saw on the screen.

“What the hell is Cap doing in Wakanda? I thought he was going after the Winter Soldiers.” Phil stated in shock.

“Yeah, that’s what he said... It’s impossible that Cap lied to us in order to smuggle Barnes out. Because if he were really trying to help Barnes escape, then he wouldn’t have taken him to Wakanda.” Natasha conjectured.

“Why? How could you be sure?” Phil asked.

“King T’Challa kinda hates Barnes.” Natasha deadpanned.

“Something else is going on here… unless… the Winter Soldiers were kept in Wakanda?” Natasha drawled.

Phil’s face turned as white as a sheet of paper at that.

“That doesn’t sound good at all… That would mean that, Wakanda, the only nation that has access to tons of vibranium is Hydra… Shit. We’re gonna have to make some calls if this is true…” Phil stated in horror.

Natasha shook her head.

“No…No… I take it back, I don’t think that the Winter Soldiers were kept in Wakanda. I know the Russians, they always choose meaningful names for their projects. If they chose the name _Winter_ soldier, then it means that they were probably kept some place that actually _has_ winter. Wakanda is in Africa.” Natasha reasoned.

“You sure?” Coulson asked warily.

“Born a Russian, lived a Russian, remember? Trust me, I know how the Russians think.” Natasha answered.

“Alright. That’s a relief.” Phil said.

Natasha was still staring holes at the screen.

“Something is going on here… _what_ is it…?” Natasha drawled.

“Excuse me, guys… but… Is Cap even alive? Because from what I see on the screen, the dot isn’t even moving…” Laura spoke for the first time since they found out about Steve’s location.

“Oh, don’t worry, Laura. Cap is very much alive. You can’t see the dot moving because the screen’s too small.” Natasha said, already, her fingers had begun dancing swiftly across the keyboard.

A couple of new windows showed up on the screen.

“Here. This is a zoomed in version of the map of Wakanda. Now, if you take a look at the dot again, you can see that it’s moving. And…from the speed readings, I’d say that Cap is… taking a stroll.” Natasha explained, her expression was that of amusement. _Well, at least he’s alive. That’s good for now._  

“Okay…But we still don’t know what he’s doing there.” Phil stated.

“Only one way to find out…” Natasha said as she began closing the lid of the laptop.

“Do me a favor and bring the quinjet back in one piece okay? Securing it for you guys wasn’t exactly an easy task, you know.” Phil reminded Natasha.

“Well… it should be possible as long as we keep Cap away from pilot duties. But just a heads up though, if you don't hear from us within a week or so, you should probably start looking for the jet. Oh, and it’d be a pretty good idea to start looking at a place with _a lot_ of ice. And please don’t take 70 years this time okay?” Natasha joked, adding a playful wink at the end. 


	7. Bucksicle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a filler in CACW post-credit scene. The scene in Wakanda.

_“Still, you are pretty spry, for an older fellow. What’s your thing? Pilates? It’s like calisthenics. You might have missed a couple of things, you know, doing time as a Capsicle.” – Tony Stark to Steve Rogers, The Avengers._

 

* * *

 

**Wakandan Institute of Science Cryogenics Department Building, Central Wakanda, Africa. **

BEEP!

Steve Rogers watched the metal doors leading to the Cryogenics Lab slide open. Pocketing his visitor key card, the supersoldier strode into the lab. Upon entrance, he was confronted by the sight of sophisticated scientific equipment (rows of them) and the sounds of scientific jargons being thrown back and forth across the room. The lab was surrounded by transparent glass screens, each containing complicated orange-colored schematics which looked suspiciously like human body parts.

“Welcome to our Cryogenics Department, Captain.” A voice interrupted Steve’s visual inspection of the large laboratory. Steve turned his head to his right and saw a medium height African woman walking up towards him.

“Doctor Afia. Head of WIS’s Cryogenics Department.” The woman greeted politely and stuck her hand out to Steve.

Steve shook the extended hand.

“Steve Rogers. Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Afia.”

“The pleasure is mine, Captain Rogers. His Highness notified me of your impending arrival this morning. I am pleased to inform you that Mr. Barnes’ procedure will commence in 30 minutes. If you would follow me this way please?” Doctor Afia said, gesturing towards the direction she came from.

Steve nodded and trailed after the doctor.

Doctor Afia led Steve into a long hallway with 3 doors on each side and one large door located right at the end. As they passed the first door, Doctor Afia stopped and spoke, “Mr. Barnes’ procedure would be performed in the room straight ahead at the end of this hallway. You can enter the room with the same visitor keycard that you had used to enter this main lab. Now, you would have to excuse me since I have some urgent business to attend to in my office. Any staff of this lab would be glad to see to your needs should you require any assistance. And I hope you enjoy your stay in Wakanda, Captain.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Steve replied with another nod and strode purposefully towards the end of the hallway.

 

* * *

 

The procedural room was smaller albeit more spacious than the main lab. The rectangular room was divided into four sections, one section at each corner of the room. Each section contained a single chamber and a couple of glass screens which Steve assumed were used for monitoring tasks. Steve glanced around the room and located Bucky at the farthest corner, sitting on top of a surgical table. A male doctor was fixing an IV drip onto Bucky’s right hand. Steve crossed the room in quick strides towards Bucky’s section, slowing his strides only to examine the orange schematics and the Cryogenic chamber in front of Bucky.

“Buck, you sure about this?”

“I can’t trust my own mind…” Bucky answered wistfully with a shake of his head before letting out a sad chuckle.

Bucky looked worn, tired, and defeated. And the worst part was that there was nothing Steve could do, and nothing he could say that would make it all better. Steve’s heart clenched at the thought of all the sufferings Bucky had been through all those years.

“So until they figure out how to take those stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing…for everybody…” Bucky spoke again.

Steve said nothing. He merely stared at his childhood friend, his eyes betraying hints of sadness, regret, and everything in between.

But Bucky would take none of that.  

“Stop looking like it’s the end of the world, punk. I’m just taking a long nap, it’s not like I’m dying. ‘Sides, look around you! I’ll be safe here. This place is Fort Knox. At least when I’m in here, nobody’s gonna get to me aye?” Bucky reassured, giving Steve a light shove with his good (and only) arm.

A tiny smile formed on Steve’s lips. It vanished a second later.

“I know, Buck. It’s just…” Steve sighed and shook his head, unable to express the guilt and remorse he had felt over the things that had befallen Bucky.

“What? You’re not gonna go all sappy on me now, are you?” Bucky teased, still trying to keep the mood light.

“No… Well, in a sense, yes… I guess I should have said this much earlier…but I’m so sorry…Buck. For everything. If I had been a little quicker on that train… or heck, if I had even tried to look for you after you fell… you wouldn’t have to go through so much hell.” Steve said.

“Come on, Steve. None of that’s your fault. You did the best you could. It’s time you let that go, man. ‘Sides, if I didn’t fall off that train, I’d probably be dead by now, or probably be like a hundred years old just waitin’ to die. Isn’t that even worse?” Bucky said jokingly, which induced a tentative smile on Steve’s handsome features.

“But at least you would’ve lived your life without going through that much hell…” Steve said, his voice once again laced with guilt.

“But I would have lived my life thinking you were dead, Steve. How’s that not hell?” Bucky said.

Steve pondered in silence Bucky’s words. In some sense, Steve could relate to them. Steve understood all too well the pain of going through normal life with the knowledge that everyone you’ve known were gone forever, and that you were the only one left behind. Life just felt… empty, void and pointless. Then the guilt comes, and haunt your dreams. In fact, that pretty much summed up Steve’s life for the first 6 months after he was thawed.

“Peggy… is she still alive?” Bucky asked all of a sudden, jolting Steve out of his musings.

“She was when I first came out of the ice. But she…passed, just a few days ago. Died peacefully in her sleep. Just attended her funeral before I found your apartment in Bucharest.” Steve said.

“Sorry buddy.” Bucky said.

Neither uttered another word. The room was silent except for the constant humming of some machinery operating in the background. And perhaps some white noise too. 

“She’d want you to be happy, ya’ know.” Bucky said after a while.

It took Steve several seconds’ time to answer.

“Yeah, I know…” Steve squeezed his eyes shut as the memories of his conversations with Peggy came surging back into his mind, “She told me that before.”

Bucky gave him a surprised look.

“When?” Bucky asked.

“I visited her retirement home often when I was still working for SHIELD in D.C.”

Bucky nodded his acknowledgement.

“Are you? Happy?” Bucky’s question cut through constant humming of machinery.

It was, in fact, the very same question that Steve had been asking himself every _second_ of the day ever since he was thawed from the ice. Wherever he went, and whatever he did, that question was there, niggling at the back of his head. Gnawing at him, taunting him, begging to be answered.

 _Was_ he happy? Was he?

Well, the odds were that if he had to even ask that very question, then he truly wasn’t happy. A happy person would’ve known straight up that he or she was happy. There wouldn’t be any hesitancy or doubt. It would be instinctive. If you’re happy, you’d just _know._

The blonde supersoldier sighed.

“Honestly? I don’t know, Buck. This job…… Every time we go out into the field, we do everything we can to save, to protect. We fight so that everyone else can have a chance at happiness, and so that everyone can be free. But sometimes……” Steve paused, shaking his head “sometimes I feel like the price of freedom is my own happiness, ya know?” Steve said pensively.

Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes, “I call bullshit.”

Steve glared, “Well, what do you want me to say, Buck? That I’ll abandon my mission and elope to Alaska or something?!”

“What I _want_ you to do, is to stop using the mission as an excuse to run away from happiness. You of all people deserve happiness, pal. But the thing is, you’re also the only one who can find that for yourself. So what if you have to live most of your life fighting? You could always find happiness in those fighting _together_ with you.” Bucky said knowingly.

Bucky’s words rang like millions of church bells in Steve’s mind.

_Those fighting together with you……fighting together with you……together with you……together….with you……partners…_

Those words only reminded Steve of one, and only one person. A woman, whom he loved so dearly.  A woman whose life and happiness he valued so much more than his own. His second chance at love, Natasha Romanoff.

For a moment, Steve could have sworn that he saw Bucky giving him a pointed _look,_ like as if Bucky knew something about his feelings for Natasha.

_Could it be that Bucky knows? Pfft, how’s that even possible? We only hung out for like…2 days ever since he disappeared off the face of the Earth 2 years ago._

Steve made a lame attempt to steer the conversation away from that ‘mine-field’.

Steve shrugged, “Well… yeah, I guess you’re right about finding happiness among the people fighting alongside me. When I led the Avengers, I felt like I was… _home_. And like I actually belonged somewhere, ya know? Guess you could even say that I was a little happy. But now, even that’s gone. The Avengers…” Steve snorted, “We’re no more, Buck. The _whole_ team, torn apart like some cheap cotton candy… so I don’t really know anymore.” Steve said sadly.

Bucky rolled his eyes again.

“Oh come on, punk. Don’t give me that bull. You know what I’m talking about here.” Bucky said accusingly.

_Christ, Buck. Just drop it, would you?_

Still trying to feign ignorance, Steve tried his damnest to appear affronted.

“What? You said happiness… and… I was sort of happy when I was still with the team. Family, friends, a purpose in life? Aren’t those the kind of stuff that makes people happy?” Steve replied indignantly. _And love._ Steve had left that part out, obviously. Because he didn’t want to go there. _Sooo_ did not want to go there.  

“Pal…you’re freakin’ hundred years old! Are you seriously tellin’ me that you have no idea what I’m talking about here?”

“ _What?_ ” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Man, I can’t believe this is happening…” Bucky lifted his gaze onto the ceiling, hoping, no, _praying_ , that he wouldn’t have to give Steve a long lecture about the birds and the bees.  

When Steve said nothing else, Bucky nothing but threw him a look of pure exasperation, “You’ve _GOT_ to be shitting me, right punk?”

“Still no idea what you’re sayin’, pal. And whatever it is that you’re sayin’ I’m pretty sure I don’t want to talk about it anyway.” Steve fired back.

“I’m _SAYIN’_ …when the hell are you planning to get off your ass and make your move?” Bucky asked.

Steve did a mental face palm. _Oh balls, he knows… Bucky knows. Crap._

“Make a move? Make what move? On who?” Steve averted his gaze, trying to hide the crimson slowly creeping up his neck onto his face.

From the corner of his eyes, Steve saw Bucky’s smirk. It was Bucky's signature I-know-who-you’ve-been-secretly-fantasizing-about-for-years smirk.

It was also right then that Steve realized something.

Bucky had played him.

Smug son of a gun.

Steve cursed inwardly at his mistake. Bucky hadn’t explicitly set the context of ‘making a move’. It was Steve himself who had presumed the context to be… uhh... romance-related. Damn, he should’ve said, ‘I don’t play chess’ or something.

Guess he had totally forgotten how devious Bucky could be.   

Walked right into that one. Oops.

Yep, he was definitely still smitten. Just by hearing the words ‘make a move’ and  his mind would instantly bring about the images of a certain redhead…a smart, beautiful, intelligent, sexy, drop-dead gorgeous, funny, kind, and, did he mention sexy? Yeah, _sexy_ , and passionate, and sassy, and motivated, and strong, and lethal, and tough, and tenacious, and intoxicating, and alluring, and –

_Boy...I’m still as whipped as I was a year ago, aren’t I? Letting her go my ass, Rogers._

Steve cleared his throat, “I don’t know who you’re implying here, Buck. For all I know, I ain’t making no moves on anybody…” At least that was the truth. After all, Steve knew he wouldn’t be making any moves anytime soon because Natasha belonged to someone else. He had lost his chance with Natasha. He had lost Natasha to Bruce Banner ages ago. _Suck it up, Rogers._

Bucky snorted derisively.

“Who else punk? That redhead at the hangar. What, you think I wouldn’t notice?” Bucky taunted knowingly.

Oops. Double, Oops.

_Great, now even my brain-washed, long-lost war buddy knows, was I really that obvious? Maybe I was…_

Christ. This shouldn’t have happened. What happened to letting her go, to hiding his own feelings so that it wouldn’t be a burden to her? He was supposed to keep his feelings in check dammit! And yet Bucky had figured it out only after 2 days… Darn. He sure sucked at hiding his own feelings. The same way he sucked at lying.

Ever since a year ago, when Steve found out that Natasha harbored feelings for Bruce, he had taken it upon himself to ensure that his own feelings never see the light of day. Simply because he didn’t want to get in the way of Natasha’s happiness. Plus, even when things didn’t work out between Natasha and Bruce (presumably), it was a near absolute certainty that things would get awkward in their partnership if Steve had somehow confessed his feelings to Natasha _and_ it turned out that she still had feelings for Bruce. Yeah, pretty sure that it’d ruin their friendship entirely, or at least, alter the dynamics of their partnership completely. Besides, he didn’t want Natasha to feel burdened or pressured by his feelings, he wanted Natasha to be happy, be it with Bruce or anyone else. That was why he had been so keen on keeping his feelings for Natasha concealed. The less people who knew about it the better. In fact, it would be better that no one ever found out about his feelings at all.    

_But since Bucky already knows…_

With a look of resignation, Steve decided to feed Bucky a little bit of the truth, and hope that Bucky would be content with that and just let the subject drop.

“You mean Nat?”

“If that’s her name, then yes. I detected a little something-something between you two back at the hangar.” Bucky teased.

Steve shook his head, “Nah. You’re wrong. It’s not like that between us. Nat doesn’t… she doesn’t see me that way……” Steve let out a bitter chuckle, “Makes sense though, right? I mean, God, Bucky, have you seen her? Clearly, she’s out of my league. She could literally have any man she wants, why would she want an _ancient_ war relic out of time?” Steve denied, a sad smile forming on his lips. He was wallowing in self-pity, he knew that. Though it didn’t make his words any less true. A wonderful woman like Natasha deserved somebody special. Him? What the heck would she ever see in him? After all, the only thing special about him came out of a fucking test tube.

Bucky, on the other hand, showed no signs of dropping the subject – much to Steve’s horror.

“Uh-huh. What about you? Do you like her?” Bucky asked, cutting to the chase.

 _Like? More like head-over-heels in love._ Steve scoffed inwardly.

Steve blushed and averted his gaze once more while he mentally debated his answer. When he finally formulated his response, Bucky beat him to it.

“You don’t… actually have to answer that, I kinda already know the answer.” Bucky said with that all-too-knowing smirk plastered on his face.

Steve could’ve sworn that he felt his ears burn off his head right then. Maybe a few more seconds later, and he might actually be able to smell the smoke coming off his burning hair.  

“If you knew then why’d you even ask? Jerk.” Steve accused, trying, but failing, to hide his embarrassment.

“Listen pal… I know women a lot better than you do.” Bucky said with both his brows raised, daring Steve to challenge him.

Steve let out snort followed by a defeated sigh.

“Well, can’t really argue with that, can I?” Steve muttered.

Bucky smirked.  

“And I’ll let you in on a little something, Steve. So you better listen up...” Bucky baited.

“Just spit it _out_.” Steve grumbled.  

“I think the redhead digs you.” Bucky commented casually.

Steve opened his mouth and began to say something. He had absolutely no clue why he was even telling Bucky all the things that he was about to say, but, he did.

Maybe he just missed his old buddy. 

“Nah… sorry Buck.” Steve shook his head slowly, “I’m not buying it. Not this time. Look, there’s something I haven’t told you yet. Thing is, Natasha… she…uh…” Steve paused to take a shallow breath, “She wants someone else. It was a former teammate. I know because I’ve seen her with him last year. They looked good together. Like _really, really_ good. She was always just… _different_ … and _intimate_ … when she’s around him, like he’s her special guy, ya know? It’s just……whenever she looks at him, there was always this look of… adoration. Like he’s the only guy she could see. I guess……what I’m sayin’ is that I don’t think I could top that, pal. Besides, it’s obvious that she’s very fond of him and… if I read things correctly last year, the guy’s pretty fond of her too… Heck, they even shared a room together.” Steve said the last part assertively, hoping that for _once_ Bucky would take the goddamn hint and drop the subject.

A familiar tightness coursed through Steve’s chest. The tightness was then followed by a sensation akin to that of a trillion daggers stabbing at his heart incessantly.

_Dammit, it’s been a year already, why does it still hurt so much?_

Right. Stupid question. It was because he was still in love. Completely, utterly and pathetically besotted...

And Bucky being, well, _Bucky_ , was _relentless_ whenever it came to poking his nose around Steve’s personal life. Instead of dropping the subject, Bucky immersed himself deeper into his role as Steve’s love guru.

“I don’t know, Steve. I’m just saying, there weren’t any reasons for her to help us escape back at the hangar. None at all. But she willingly sacrificed her freedom just to help your cause, didn’t she? I was once trained in espionage too, and I _know_ , that to a spy, freedom means everything. We always want to get people off our backs, not the other way round. But she did it. She made herself a target by letting us off the hook at the airport. And I think we both know that she didn’t do it for me, pal. Oh, and also, from the way she looked at you? I’d say that she’s pretty fond of you too.” Bucky continued his ‘Nobel’ lecture. So much for taking goddamn hints.

All of a sudden, Steve found the marble floor of the lab to be the most fascinating thing in the entire universe.

_I wonder how they had created the pattern on that tile over there. Looks a lot like brain neurons._

Steve felt a nudge on his arm.

Reluctantly, Steve lifted his gaze.

He saw Bucky opening his mouth and immediately Steve knew that they were about to have _that_ talk. The brotherly heart-to-heart talk, man to man.

Steve sighed inwardly. _Christ._

“Listen, pal…” Bucky began.

That was also the exact moment when Steve groaned and raised his hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, “Oh, no, no, NO. You and I are _not_ having this talk, Buck.”

“Wait, punk. Just hear me out?”

Steve shook his head and his expression was what one would consider as……? Well, scandalized.

“Look. I’m about to go under in a few. So you gonna listen or not?” Bucky pressed on.

“Okay. Okay. Fine. Just don’t make it weird or anything.” _If that’s even possible._

“Look, pal. I don’t have to lecture you about waiting too long, ‘cause I think you know that better than anyone else. I’m just sayin’, chicks like that are the type that you grab onto and never let go. You wait any longer, somebody else would swoop in and stake their claim.” Bucky admonished in a serious and firm tone.

“Gee, thanks a lot for clarifying, really. Buck, that kinda happened already. I just told you that, remember? Some knight in shining armor had swooped in last year and taken her off her feet. And it’s too bad that the knight didn’t carry a shield. She clearly doesn’t want me. It’s over, Buck. Can we move on now, please?” Steve said, his voice slightly on edge.

Steve recalled losing Natasha to Banner because he had, what? Waited too long? Was that even the case? Maybe it was. _Or_ maybe it had nothing to do with waiting at all? Maybe Natasha just never felt that way about him…

“Yeah. I think we both know whose fault that is…” Bucky scoffed.

“You know what, Buck? I swear, you give the best pep-talks ever. Just peachy. I feel so _much_ better already. And since I am now _positively pepped_ , thanks to you, I’d appreciate it if you stop your lecture now.” Steve said sarcastically.

“Come on, punk. Don’t be a wuss. Go tell her how you feel, man. Make a move.”

 _Jesus, Buck. You think I don’t want to? God, I wanted so much to tell her how I feel. But sometimes, I feel like she still has feelings for the other guy, and telling her my feelings would burden her. And that wouldn’t be fair to her._ Steve sighed inwardly.

“I’m not sure, Buck. But I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” Steve answered wistfully, quickly losing his energy to argue his point further, plus, he figured the only way out of this conversation was through noncommittal indulgence in Bucky’s Nobel-prize-worthy therapeutic love advice.

“Just a heads up though, if you haven’t made any moves on her when I come back up, I’m going after her. I’ll be the person to stake _my_ claim on her. And when I got her, I’m soooo… gonna parade her in front of you.” Bucky taunted.

“Oh…shut up, you jerk.” Steve smiled and punch Bucky lightly in the gut, realizing that Bucky must be joking with him…… right?

RIGHT??

Steve’s gaze snapped to Bucky’s.

Bucky’s face had ‘this ain’t no joke, pal’ written all over it. Wow. So _much_ for pep-talks.

Steve groaned out loud, “Jesus _Christ,_ Buck. You call yourself my friend? What kind of a sick person makes a move on a girl _after_ encouraging his _best friend_ to go after the same girl _and while_ he clearly knows that his best friend has _feelings_ for said girl? _Jesus._ ” Steve’s tone betrayed his exasperation and disbelief at Bucky’s cruel and… _inhumane…_ behavior.

And, of course, the realization that he had just admitted his feelings for Natasha out loud did not escape him either. Whoops.

Bucky gave him a shrug… and a smirk, “She’s hot.”

Steve’s expression turned aghast. Blood drained away from his face.

_Please tell me you’re joking, Buck. Please…_

Steve went for a fake laugh, hoping that this was another one of Bucky’s pranks. But the laughter faltered after 5 seconds when he realized that Bucky wasn’t laughing together with him. Instead, the jerk was still smirking at him.

_Smug son of a…_

Exasperated, Steve threw Bucky his are-you-fucking-with-me look. When the smirk remained on Bucky’s face, the green-eyed monster within Steve reared its head.

“Bucky…” Steve warned.

“What?”

“Natasha’s not your toy. She isn’t like all those dames that you mess around back in the days, okay? She deserves to be treated with respect.”

Bucky shrugged, “Exactly. I know she’s special. All the more reasons for me to pull my suave moves on her, isn’t it?”

A vein thrummed through the skin on Steve’s forehead.

“Don’t go there, Bucky. I’m warning you.” Steve gritted.

Bucky’s smirk practically oozed smugness right then, “Warning considered. And… ignored.”

Steve let out a feral growl.

“I _just_ told you that she’s already been taken by another man, like _seconds_ ago. You’re goddamn shameless!” Steve shook his head in disgust.

Bucky just shrugged.

“She’s still hot.” Bucky stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

_Man, is this guy for real…?_

Steve poked his index finger at his friend forcefully, causing Bucky’s body to tilt back abruptly.

“Back the hell off. I mean it, Buck. If you do anything stupid and hurt her, I won’t pull my punches like all the previous times we’ve fought, you got it?” Steve was getting riled up.

And only _then,_ did Bucky’s smirk transformed into a teasing smile.

“Now _THAT’S_ the spirit. Oh yeah……that’s what I’m talking about…” Bucky said approvingly.

And at that moment, Steve found himself torn between mortification and relief. In the end, he chose the latter. 

Steve’s shoulder sagged, “You know what, Buck, I ...UGH! Fine. You had me! Go ahead, laugh at me all you want.”

“Looks like _somebody_ had finally grown some serious BALLS. Hey listen up, folks! _America_ had risen again!” Bucky shouted into the space of the quasi-vacant room, his booming voice overshadowing the humming of machinery.

“Jeez, Bucky, keep it down…” Steve hissed.

Bucky’s roaring laughter echoed the procedure room the next instant.

“And I’m just joking, by the way. Had to say something to stop you from being a wuss. And from the looks of it, it worked.” Bucky said as he rubbed against the sore spot on his chest where Steve had just poked at, “Hell, for a moment there, I really thought that you were gonna leave me in that…” Bucky gestured towards the chamber he was bound to be placed in, “ _tube…_ forever.”

_Thank heavens he was joking._

Steve said in relief, “Oh, shut up. You jerk.”

Then Bucky did something that brought Steve right back to the 1940s. Bucky stuck out his tongue and tilted his head from side to side. It was one of Bucky’s trademark idiosyncrasies, something Bucky always did whenever he pulled a working prank on Steve.

Laughter spilled out from Steve’s lips. If he had had any doubts previously, they were all gone now. Now he was surer than ever. The real Bucky was back. His old buddy old pal was revived. He had gotten his brother back. At long last.

Just then a doctor in a white lab coat interrupted their conversation,

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Barnes, but we are ready for you now. We can begin the procedure whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks doc. Just give us a moment.” Bucky said to the doctor before turning back to Steve.

“Guess my nap time is here huh?” Bucky said to Steve.

“I’m gonna miss you buddy.” Steve said, his eyes betrayed unspoken tears.

“Me too, Steve.”

And in the next instant, Steve switched into Captain America mode because, so help him God, he was gonna cry if he hadn’t.

“Listen, Buck. I’m gonna find out how to get those stuff outta your head. I don’t care how many HYDRA goons I have to torture, I’m still gonna do it. Then you can come back up, live your life and be free.” Steve said in his firm and commanding baritone.

“Yeah. I know you will. But don’t do anything stupid like getting your ass killed before I get back okay?” Bucky warned.

Steve remembered clearly the last time Bucky had said something similar to him. It was during a 1940s Stark Expo, the time when he first met Doctor Abraham Erskine. It was at that moment when his life changed completely.

Steve smiled at the memory and decided to use the same comeback line. For old times’ sake.

“How can I? When you’ve taken all the stupid with you.” Steve said.

Bucky chuckled out loud, and Steve didn’t need any further confirmation to know that Bucky, too, remembered their shared memory.

“You’re a punk.” Bucky said as he stood up from the surgical table and hugged Steve with his only arm.

“Jerk.”

As Bucky pulled away from the hug, he gave Steve his final admonition, “Grow a pair and tell the redhead how you feel, Steve. I don’t want you to live the rest of your life with the regret of giving up without trying, because it’s definitely more painful than the rejection itself.”

Steve scoffed and said in mock horror, “The hell do you know about ‘the pain of rejection’. You were always the ladies’ man, Buck. Even from way back in the 40s.”

“It’s about closure, pal. If you don’t tell her, you won’t ever find closure. You’ll live with the ‘what-if’ for the rest of your life. Even if you get rejected, at least you’ve got closure, it’d be easier to move on that way.”

Move on? Steve nearly scoffed at the idea. He had barely moved on from Peggy for Christ’s sake! And heck, the only reason he was even able to move on from Peggy was because of Natasha. And here they were, talking about moving on from _Natasha._ Like as if it was even a possibility. God. He was so fucked.

Steve stared at his feet, still ruminating over Bucky’s words. Deep down, he knew that Bucky had made some pretty good points. But to Steve, a lot more was at stake. Was he willing to risk everything and go all in? What if things changed between him and Natasha when he told her? Pfft, who was he even kidding? Things _would_ still change if (hypothetically speaking) Natasha met another knight in shining armor _without_ a shield. After all, Steve couldn’t really be that naïve to think that this ‘partnership’ between them would last, could he? It had to change. It _will_ change at some point, just a matter of when. So Steve could either fess up and take the _potential_ risk of losing her, or lose her altogether at some point in the future to some other dude. All or nothing. Seemed like a no-brainer.

_Great advice, Buck. Guess I owe you one._

Though, of course, Steve would still need to find a way to tell Natasha without pressuring her or burdening her in case she didn’t feel the same. But regardless, like Bucky said, he should still find a chance to fess up and tell Natasha how he really felt.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Bucky Barnes giving him sappy and cheesy love advice in a brotherly heart-to-heart. Wow. Who would’ve thought? For a moment, Steve really wondered if the moon would turn blue that night.    

 _But since when was Bucky capable of sentimentality, anyway? That’s all kinds of weird. Maybe some part of Bucky was lost in transition or something._ Steve thought silently. 

Unsatisfied with Steve’s silence, Bucky tried again, “Tell her, Steve. Before it’s too late.”

Steve lifted his gaze back up and gave Bucky a perfunctory smile, “Thanks, Buck. I’ll think about it.”

 _Jeez, Buck, gotta stop now. Seriously getting a little too weird._ Steve shuddered inwardly.

“Yeah punk, you better. And who knows…”Bucky wiggled his eyebrows, “if you’re lucky, you two might even get to enjoy a late night fondue.”

And…….the Universe was restored to its rightful axis.

Just like that, their brief moment of brotherly sentimentality was gone in a cloud of smoke.

Throwing in a wisecrack or two to ruin a perfect bromance moment? Yep, quintessential Bucky. And of all quips, it _had_ to be the fondue joke – thanks a lot, Howard.

Steve groaned, “Oh, come on… it’s been over 70 years! 70 years! And you’re still not letting that go?!”

“Nope, never letting that go, pal. Not in a million years.” Bucky said cheekily.  

“Yeah, well, Buck. I miss you so much already.” Steve said in mock sarcasm. Bucky walked towards the chamber opposite the surgical table and stepped into it. Steve merely watched.

James Buchanan Barnes threw Steve Rogers one last parting look, and then he said, “Doc, I’m ready……”

And thus began the epic saga of a Bucksicle’s formation in the presence of a Capsicle.

Stuff from legends indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cap on ice = Capsicle  
> Bucky on ice... is?? Geddit? Geddit?


	8. Unrequited?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that end credits scene where Steve stood in front of a window in Wakanda and then T'Challa suddenly walked up to him? Yes. This chapter will expand on that. This chapter will be my interpretation of the thoughts that were going on in Steve's head before T'Challa walked up to him. 
> 
> There will be a decent amount of angst in this chapter.

_“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” – James Patterson, The Angel Experiment_

 

* * *

 

**Wakandan Institute of Science Cryogenics Department Building, Central Wakanda, Africa. **

Steve didn’t leave Bucky’s side until the final stages of the procedure ended. Before he left, Steve literally ‘did rounds’ in the lab, all the while taking his sweet time to ask the doctor-in-charge questions regarding the procedure and also about the logistics of the lab. Ask? Pfft, he was pretty sure that was putting it mildly. More like subjected the poor doctor to some authentic Captain-America-style grilling. He might have also slipped in a threat or two about snapping the backs of anyone in the lab who turned out to be undercover HYDRA rats. The poor doctor was sweating bullets by the time Steve was done. In his defense, Steve was leaving the safety of his friend in the hands of these doctors, so he would damn well ensure that these doctors knew what they were doing, and that their intentions were pure and non-nefarious. Bucky had endured several lifetimes’ worth of suffering already, and thus, Steve would do literally _anything_ in his power to keep Bucky safe from HYDRA’s grasps. Seriously, grilling a couple of scientists couldn’t even hold a fucking candle to the things that he’d do to actual HYDRA bastards out there.      

Steve exited the main lab via the same metal doors he had entered from, the ones which led to the main lobby. The main lobby of the Cryogenics Department Building had an artistic design, with large and triangular floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across its entire length. The fancy windows overlooked the picturesque scenery which surrounded the building. The moment Steve set foot on the lobby and spotted the fancy windows, he was enticed by Mother Nature’s seductive beauty. Rays of white light shone through the tall windows, promising warmth, comfort and bliss; almost as if they were beckoning him towards the window; beckoning him to just lie down on the floor and bask in their warmth. So instead of taking the elevator down to the ground floor, Steve ambled towards the windows, and just…watched. What he saw was simply stunning. Laid before his eyes was the epitome of timeless natural beauty, an embodiment of paradise. Thick forests surrounded the building. The whole terrain was enwrapped in ghost-gray mists, giving off a mysterious and enigmatic vibe. The majestic statue of a Panther stood conspicuously near the edge of a cliff, a symbol of Wakanda’s strength, valor and glory.

Steve’s admiration of the scenery didn’t last long as a sense of desolation invaded him.

_All these beautiful sceneries, and yet I’ve got no one to share them with._

In an attempt to stave off the sense of forlornness prowling its way into his heart, Steve searched his memory frantically, trying to remember the last time he had a chance to watch a beautiful scenery with somebody he cared for deeply.

A certain redhead came to mind.

_Big surprise there. She’s all I can think about these days._

_“There are worse ways to go…. where else am I gonna get a view like this?”_ He remembered Natasha’s exact words to him when they were standing next to each other amid the total chaos of flying-city-turned-artificial-meteorite Novi Grad.

Back then, Steve agreed with Natasha, word for word, to the letter. Furthermore, those words were…comforting, at least for two people standing on a floating city that was about to take an apocalyptic plunge of death. Unbeknownst to Natasha, however, was the fact that Steve had been staring at her the whole time she was admiring the view; staring at her as he repeated her words in his own mind in an entirely different context, a context that had nothing to do with the scenery and everything to do with ‘the view’ of a certain woman standing beside him at that moment. How bad could it be, he figured, to have Natasha Romanoff’s beautiful face being the last thing he saw before death engulfed his existence? He could certainly think of much, much, _much,_ worse ways to go, really (like being trapped in some hermetic underground New Jersey bunker with an inbound missile flying straight at them for instance). Then again, if they were all to perish in the hands of Ultron that day, Steve’s only regrets would be in not ever telling Natasha how he truly felt about her, and perhaps also in being unable to provide Natasha with the love which she so deserved.

Ahem. Steve Rogers had a confession to make. See, the truth was, Steve had come _so close_ to pulling Natasha into a kiss that fateful day as they stood beside each other on that rock. And he would’ve indubitably done so, if Fury hadn’t shown up with his goddamn Helicarriers. _“Fury, you son of a bitch.”_ That day, he had growled out those words in a fit of frustration, and in _slight_ annoyance at Fury’s untimely intrusion into their little (possibly one-sided) moment. There. He said it. Not that anyone would ever find out the real reason behind Captain America’s filthy mouth that day anyway, pfft, bygones.  

Nevertheless, Steve realized even back then, that he had truly lost his chance with Natasha. He had no claims over her whatsoever. Not when she clearly wanted somebody else. Not when her heart was already stolen by another man; a _good_ , kind and intelligent man, who also happened to be a good friend. But to be honest, that cognizance had come to Steve like a sucker punch to the gut at first. Because Bruce Banner……. her _thing_ , with Banner, was really something that Steve _never_ saw coming, like, _at all_. Why? Well, because…… _because_ , Steve had always thought that… that maybe… _he himself_ would one day be that _man_ for Natasha Romanoff. Oh ya’ know, ‘ _the man’_ , or the proverbial  _‘one’_ or whatever it was that people call it these days. Or perhaps one of those life-long-soulmate-partner thingies that people so often boasted about. At least that was what he _hoped_ for to be the case. Though, in hindsight, Steve realized that it had all been nothing but a fool’s hope. 

Throughout their partnersip in SHIELD, Steve could have sworn that they had _something_ together. Like there was this spark, or connection, or _chemistry_ , between them. He felt it. And of course, he had thought, and _hoped_ , that Natasha felt it too. He wasn’t gonna lie, he was physically attracted to the spy at first sight, which straight man wouldn’t be, anyway? Natasha was a stunningly gorgeous woman after all. But as they started working together as partners in SHIELD after the Battle of New York, what started out as mere physical attraction turned into something… _more_. Something so much deeper and yet so… _fuzzy_ … and _intangible_ and _undefinable_. _Something_ , which he clearly hadn’t been able to wrap his head around back then. Sadly though, before Steve even had the chance to find out more about what that _‘something’_ really was? SHIELD came crashing down from the sky into the Potomac; and along with that came the mournful demise of their partnership, as each of them had entirely different versions of ‘ _the aftermath’_ to deal with. For him, it had been to save the lost soul of his childhood friend. But for her? It had been to rebuild all her covers, to rebuild her entire _life_. What about the remains and remnants of their partnership, you might ask. Oh he’d tell you exactly what happened to the remains of their partnership - buried, and left to _rot_ , at the cemetery which contained Nick Fury’s empty casket.

Even while deeply engrossed in his hunt for Bucky, Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Natasha, couldn’t stop wondering about the prospect of building something _more_ with her, he wanted a _definition_ for _them,_ a definition that went way beyond just a close friendship, a definition that meant something much more _intimate._ And his mind, constantly brimming with memories of her; her smiles, her smirks, her relentless teasing and grandad jokes, her _company_. And boy, did he miss her company like fuck. He missed their partnership, their banters, their… Oh God, he missed _everything_ about her didn’t he?

As great of a partner as Sam was, Sam wasn’t _her._ And…well, everything just wasn’t the same without her. Steve swore, _nothing_ felt the same without her. Not even food tasted the same anymore. God, after she left, he swore he couldn’t even take a bite without feeling this emptiness inside him. Indeed, he could no longer enjoy food like he used to, not when every spoonful he took reminded him of all the times he had takeout in the living room of his D.C. apartment, with Natasha legs resting comfortably in his lap while she shared with him tidbits about modern pop culture. _Christ._ It was like there was this empty void in his chest that could only be filled by her presence. Sometimes when he was out on the streets with Sam, chasing down leads on Bucky, he would almost always find himself turning his head at the sight of any women with red hair, he’d literally just stand still and stare after them, _praying_ that it was her that he had seen in the middle of some street somewhere in Europe. Heck, there was even this one time where he had nearly blown his cover wide open by chasing after a redheaded Natasha-doppelganger into some dark alley. Thank Heavens for Sam who had pulled him back just in time before he did something incredibly stupid, such as being arrested by the local cops for attempting a sexual assault on a redheaded woman in some dark alley. Captain America facing a sexual assault charge…just imagine the field day that the gossip columns would be having if Sam hadn’t held him back in time. Yikes. God _bless_ Sam Wilson.

Admittedly, when Steve answered his phone one night (he and Sam were somewhere in Europe at that time; the trail on Bucky went cold, so they were lodging at one of Sam’s properties in Hungary, catching a break) with Tony’s boisterous voice blaring through the receiver, Steve was beyond overjoyed. Quite uncharacteristic of a behavior for Steve if you ask me, I mean… since Tony Stark’s voice hadn’t brought much delight to Steve Rogers’ life in like, _ever._ Annoyance maybe, but certainly not _joy._ But that night, it miraculously did.

As it turned out, Tony called that night to inform him of the Avengers’ impending reassembling. 

 _'For_ _a couple of joy rides’_ was what Tony told Steve regarding the reason for the team’s reunion…

Yes! Exactly! _The team’s reunion._

 _That,_ was what had gotten Steve all cheery and jovial, not Tony’s voice, for Christ’s sake.

Jovial would be an understatement, because in truth, Steve had been absolutely thrilled upon receiving Tony’s call that night. In fact, he was inordinately hopeful too, because the news of the Avengers’ reassembling meant that he could finally see Natasha again after so many excruciating months of pining, of _longing._ And it also meant that maybe, _just maybe_ , he could finally act on his feelings for the lady. Heck, Steve had even packed up and left Hungary for New York the very next day after the call, hoping to arrive at the Avengers’ Tower in 2 days’ time.

By the time Steve arrived at the Avengers’ Tower, everyone had been present and apparently, had all been awaiting the arrival of their Captain for at least 3 days. Pleasantries were kept short as Steve wanted to get straight down to business, well, because he was Captain America, and Captain America was almost always business. To Steve, it was always the mission first, and other stuff later, just like the obedient soldier he was. Besides, he figured that his personal matters could wait for another extra couple of hours. Plus, it wasn’t like Natasha would just run off again and suddenly disappear to God-knows-where, so it wasn’t like they didn’t have time, right? They had plenty of time. They had all the time in the world, really. Nobody was gonna come between them ever again. For once in his life, Steve Rogers hadn’t waited too long. For once in his life, Steve Rogers had the right timing. For once in his life, Steve Rogers gets the dame of his dreams. Right?

Yeah right.  

After some meagre pleasantries, Steve had quickly gathered the team at the tower’s main conference room whereupon Maria Hill brought the team up to speed with some new intel regarding Loki’s scepter and the HYDRA base ran by Strucker. And almost immediately, Steve began noticing this…strange and…inexplicable… _vibe…_ surrounding Natasha and Bruce. The first thing that caught Steve’s attention was how closely they were seated together. _Very close. Dangerously close._ Well, for one, instead of taking those single swivel chairs tucked all over the edge of the conference table (which, by the way, came in _great_ abundance in the room that day, thank you very much), Bruce and Natasha had opted to settle themselves on the massive love seat couch situated just beside the conference table. And hey, with a couch that big (Steve was pretty sure that the couch could fit 4 Thors on it), one would’ve thought that there would have to be at least a _decent_ amount of spacing in between its occupants, right? But no. _NO._ Despite the couch’s generous size, Natasha and Bruce were still seated so goddamn _close_ to each other that their thighs were practically _touching_ , and that their faces were in such proximity to the point where they were literally _sharing breaths_. And goddamnit, why _were_ they talking so much to each other back then? Heck, the last time Steve remembered, they weren’t even that close with each other to begin with! So what _the hell_ was the deal with all the constant whisperings and the…the… _giggling_ anyway? Didn’t they know anything about professionalism or workplace etiquette or some shit? They were in the middle of a highly-classified team briefing, for Pete’s sake, one which concerned _global security_ , mind them. Hell, Steve could even have sworn that he saw Natasha _smiling_ sweetly at something Bruce had murmured _into her_ _ear_ (yes, their faces were just that close to each other) that day. And yeah, _exactly_ , how on Great Mother Earth would people even be capable of _smiling_ in the middle of a meeting where alien technologies and global domination issues were hotly discussed? But still……those smiles of hers though…damn. They were by no means her teasing smirks (the ones which Steve usually wind up being at the receiving end of), no, no, no, those were genuine smiles; they were sincere, and _real,_ and _beautiful_ ; that much Steve could tell from the extra light in her eyes whenever she did those smiles. The way her eyes would light up whenever she looked at Bruce…the way she’d smiled that sweet smile of hers. That smile, which she reserved only for Bruce…

And at that precise moment, Steve realized that Natasha looked happy; in fact, it was the happiest that she had ever been, as far as Steve could tell. The only misgiving that Steve might have had, was that _he_ couldn’t be the one to put that kind of smile on her face.  

Oh, and that was only the start, by the way.

After a week or so of the team’s reassembling, they were finally closing in on HYDRA, intel-wise. And as a result, the team began working more closely together on a daily basis. Most of the time, they never left the tower, hell, they were practically all living at the tower at that point. Well, it was also around then that Steve began to _really_ notice the escalated intimacy between Natasha and Bruce. Subtle glances and sweet smiles here and there (and just to be clear, by ‘here and there’, he actually meant ‘all the fucking time’); the lingering, gooey, heart-eyes they threw each other (sometimes even from way across the room); the way their eyes would always light up the moment they were in each other’s presence……

And _THEN_ came the innumerable physical contacts: The casual brushes of hands whenever they passed things to each other; the way their shoulders invariably brushed against each other whenever they walked side by side (and pfft, don’t even get him started on how those two _always_ seemed to be walking next to each other, like they were practically joined at the hips); the way her hands would always linger on Bruce’s arms when she laughed at one of his jokes; the fact that they were always seated side by side during meals…. It was usually _Steve_ ’s place by her side (Clint had the other side covered) during team meals thank you very much, but then it seemed that Bruce Banner had become her de facto replace-Steve-Rogers guy. So yeah, just fucking peachy.

Day by day, Steve had to watch the woman of his dreams slowly slip away from his reach, and into the arms of another man. He was dying inside, no doubt. The only reason Steve was able to endure that far, and the _only thing_ which made it all just a tad bit more bearable, was because he saw how happy Natasha was. Truly, Bruce made her happy.

Then one day, Steve came to a decision. He acted. He did something that any selfless-honorabletoafault-heroic-masochistic good guy would do in his situation **:**  he pulled away graciously and never said a goddamn word to Natasha about his own feelings. He began distancing himself from her, altogether reverting their previous camaraderie back to a purely professional relationship. All of a sudden, she was ‘Romanoff’ to him once again. He would never hold a conversation with her for longer than 5 minutes, and even if they did talk to each other at some point, it was all business. Every time she tried to set him up on dates with God-knows-her-name from Stark Industries, he’d just walk away. Like, literally just turning around and walk away. Heavens forgive him for being so impolite, but he only did it because he _had_ to. _Because,_ he was sure he’d just shatter into a million pieces right there in front of her if he hadn’t walked away. _Because_ it was just too fucking painful, goddamnit. She had no idea how those silly matchmakings of hers were tearing him apart inside, _no idea_. If nothing else, her matchmakings only reminded him of _why_ she was setting him up on these stupid dates in the first place: it was because she didn’t want him. She didn’t want him, and that was why she would _so willingly_ push him away to some other women whose name he could barely remember (despite the fact that he had an eidetic memory).

Some might call him a coward for pulling away, but Steve, however, argued otherwise. To Steve, pulling away was an act of courage, of _sacrifice._ Pulling away meant having the courage to put his own happiness on the line for a good cause: which was to ensure Natasha’s happiness, be it with Banner or anyone else. He’d rather sacrifice his own heart if it meant Natasha could finally be happy with someone. Even if that someone couldn’t be him.  

But how then, could he be so sure that Bruce _was_ indeed the solution to Natasha’s happiness? A fair question, but with no easy answer. Well, truthfully, Steve didn’t really _know_ per se whether she thought that Bruce was the proverbial  _'one'_ for her, or whether she was hundred percent happy with Bruce. Steve really had no idea of what Natasha’s own thoughts were. But for the little part that he did know, Steve had surmised and inferred from the interactions between Natasha and Bruce. It didn’t escape him how open Natasha was around Bruce. _Yes,_ folks, the most private person in the world had been completely, utterly, thoroughly, downright and fucking _open_ , whenever she was around the oh-so-special Doctor Banner. Not only that, Steve also noticed the sheer amount of time she had _willingly_ spent with Bruce; no obligations, no Avenging involved, just two people hanging out with each other for the sake of… well, hanging out. And Natasha, again, being an extremely private person, almost _never_ does casual hang outs. Yet, more often than not, Steve would see the two them seated together with ear buds in their ears, completely engaged in deep discussions about calming Russian lullabies or yoga routines or just some…random chitchat.

Yes. The Black Widow. Engaging in random chitchat.  

Can you believe that? _Random chitchat_. For all the times Steve knew Natasha, she had been nothing but reserved. Random chitchat had always been a foreign concept in Natasha’s life. As a matter of fact, Steve didn’t think that _random chitchat_ even existed in Natasha Romanoff’s book. But more and more, Steve became convinced that maybe it was just because she hadn’t found the right person for ‘random chitchat’ yet. Huh. Interesting. She hadn’t found the right person, despite the fact that Steve had been there by her side for almost 2 years…

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Well, so much heartbreak Steve had seen and endured, but none of them were anything close to the deathblow. Yeah. That’s right. There was a deathblow. A jackhammer to his heart.

The incident happened one early morning (roughly a month after the team reassembled), when Steve discovered, by accident, what Bruce and Natasha had been up to during those long hours they spent with each other. Obviously, everyone had been living at the Avengers Tower for quite some time by then, for convenience, since they were closing in on HYDRA at the time. It was certainly no surprise, that Captain America was a morning person. Okay, a _dawn_ person. And that morning, Steve was up at 4 AM for his workout routine; a good hour ahead of his usual schedule. That morning, Steve had been walking along the hallway when he heard soft voices, whispers really, coming from the tower’s common room. Through his enhanced hearing senses, Steve easily identified the voices as belonging to Bruce and Natasha (aka _‘the couple of the century’_ ). Of course, Steve knew that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but as usual, when things involved Natasha, he just couldn’t help his curiosity. Pfft, like as if he ever stood a chance, one mention of her name, and Steve would’ve been a goner. Shamelessly indulging his curiosity, Steve paused in the hallway and just listened, trying to figure out what their hushed conversations were all about. And come to think of, thank Heavens for JARVIS not calling out on him that morning. Anyway, it was roughly five seconds into his eavesdropping when Steve figured out the theme of their conversation that morning.

It was about Natasha’s past. They were talking about Natasha’s horrid past. _Correction._ Natasha, was doing most of the talking, with Bruce only occasionally humming his acknowledgements, sympathy, empathy and whatnot.  

Frankly, Steve was shocked that Natasha would actually _talk_ about her past to anyone on the team at all, because Steve knew how private of a person she was, and how protective she was of all her secrets, _especially_ those secrets that involved her past. After all, even throughout the entire time of their partnership in SHIELD, Steve had failed, _repeatedly_ , to learn any personal details about her, no matter how hard he had tried to. And trust him, he _fucking tried._ But despite his painstaking (understatement of the millennium, I mean have you ever _tried_ coaxing personal information out of the woman? _Jesus_ ) efforts, not once did she let slip any forms of personal detail about herself to him; be it her past, her personal goals, things that drove her, what her life was like prior to SHIELD, _anything_. No matter how hard he tried, she gave him nothing. Sometimes, when Steve finally gathered enough courage to forgo any gimmickry and just ask those personal questions directly to her face, she would just clam up, or more often than not, deflect all his questions with that sarcastic wit of hers. For the most part, Steve respected that. He respected her need for privacy, and especially so, considering her line of work where entrusting secrets to the wrong people could very well get herself, or other people, killed. Steve understood that, he really did. But the problem was, Steve also wanted to be _more_ than just a work partner to her. He wanted to be that person whom she could trust and rely on – be it with her life or her heart. He wanted to be her rock. He wanted to help her and to support her in any way he could. He wanted to _be_ that special man in her life. If she would just let him in. And the fact that Steve possessed this insatiable, and undying curiosity about the woman only made matters worse for him. She really intrigued him like nobody else. She made him _want_ to know more about her. Damn, because for the first time ever since he was thawed, Steve Rogers _wanted_ something, and it was all because of her. Natasha Romanoff made him _feel_ things goddamnit! Things that he hadn’t felt ever since _Peggy_ , God rest her soul. Thus, for nearly 2 years, Steve found himself entrapped in this frustrating situation, this… _rut_ , I mean, _Jesus_ , imagine wanting so much to know about a person yet having no way of actually knowing (because she just wouldn’t fucking tell him no matter how hard he tried to ask). Eventually, his curiosity about Natasha intensified to the point that he just _had to know_ at least something about her past. He just couldn’t help it. But at the same time he also realized that if he were to know anything about Natasha at all, he was just gonna have to find it all out on his own.

And, well, Alexander Pierce’s files which were leaked into the Internet turned out to be the very thing that Steve needed on that front.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, Bucky wasn’t the only person he had been searching for after SHIELD fell. Truth was, Steve had been looking for Natasha too. Well, not physically, of course, because he knew that the spy would be impossible to track if she had no desire to be found. But he was looking for _her,_ her as in the Natasha Romanoff from the past. He was looking for Natalia Romanova. While travelling and chasing down cold leads with Sam, Steve had spent countless nights awake, studying the SHIELD files which Natasha had released onto the Internet. Not some random HYDRA shit, obviously, because those files were heavily encrypted, but specifically _her_ file. Most of the time, he and Sam would crash at some squalid third rate motel after a long day of fruitless hunt. He would then wait until Sam was asleep (it didn’t usually take long) before sneaking into the bathroom or somewhere private where he could work. Then he would fire up his computer and spend hours on end, just losing himself in her files, pouring over information after information about Natasha’s life prior to SHIELD.

Admittedly, a lot of manly tears were shed during those nights when he studied her files; tears of anguish and of sadness over everything that she had been through; tears of relief that she had made it out of her past alive and in one piece; tears of _gratitude_ , to Clint who had found her and pulled her out alive, and to Fury too who was kind enough to give her a second chance; and then there were also the tears of admiration, as Steve finally began to see how strong and amazing of a woman Natasha Romanoff really was. He had read every single bit of content in those documents, never missing a single line or a single fact. And later on, Steve would actually find himself being overwhelmed with feelings of gratification and of satisfaction, because he had finally learnt everything there was to know about Natasha Romanoff’s past. At long last, Steve Rogers knew Natasha Romanoff’s secrets. When the years of yearning for knowledge about her was finally satisfied, he truly felt like the king of the world, like he had unlocked some sort of big cosmic secret. That feeling of misplaced satisfaction lasted all the while until he stumbled across Natasha’s private conversation with Bruce that morning at the tower.

Yeah. That morning. The morning that changed _everything._

At any rate, going back to that morning of Steve’s eavesdropping where this supposed ‘deathblow’ was delivered. Anyways, Steve had remained rooted on his spot in the hallway even after figuring out the theme of their conversation (took him only 5 seconds to figure out the theme). Steve knew that their conversation was a _very_ private one, well, obviously, since it was Natasha’s secrets being the center of discussion. In fact, that could even explain why JARVIS hadn’t been around to call him out for his snooping, right? Because Natasha had probably dismissed the AI in order to keep her conversation with Bruce off any forms of records. Those facts alone were enough for Steve to know just how private the conversation was… But still…

 _“Maybe just for a couple more minutes…”_ Steve had told himself that morning when he convinced himself to remain hidden in the hallway to continue his snooping.  

Granted, he wasn’t particularly proud of that little domestic espionage stunt he had pulled back then, but in his defense, Steve genuinely thought that he had known everything there was to know about Natasha’s past at the time (from reading Pierce’s files), so he figured that _technically_ , listening in to something that he already knew wouldn’t be _that bad?_ Right?

Right. 

Steve ended up standing in the hallway for about another minute or so. And it was probably about that time that the sirens started blaring in his head like a wacko on drugs. Because by then, he detected a sudden shift in the cadence of Natasha’s voice as she whispered something to Bruce. Her voice had been uncharacteristically tender, soft, gentle, sincere and _vulnerable_. Her tone was something that Steve had never ever heard Natasha used before. Never, not even after the 4 years of their friendship and the 2 years of their close-knit partnership, had Steve ever experienced such blatant vulnerability from Natasha Romanoff. Damn, what a shocker that was, to think that Natasha could allow herself to speak in such vulnerable a manner.

 _And then_ , Steve began to hear all these names coming out of her mouth in soft whispers; names of places, names of the people from her past, _NONE_ of which rang any bells in Steve’s eidetic mind. But how could that be? Steve had _read everything_ from Natasha’s files, and Steve Rogers had a mind that _never_ forgets. So how could those names she mentioned not ring any bells at all? It made no sense. It was nonsensical. Preposterous. Cockamamie. A complete absurdity. But, wait, maybe it _did_ make sense. Hell, the implication was crystal clear, wasn’t it? It had been so obvious. Natasha was sharing with Bruce the things about her past life that were kept outside her files. She was telling Bruce things about herself that she had probably told no one before.

Steve wouldn’t lie. That really did hurt. First of all, it hurt like a son of a bitch that Bruce had the privilege to know things about Natasha straight from her mouth instead of through some goddamn file _._ It really fucking hurt that Bruce seemed to (so effortlessly) achieve the very thing that Steve Rogers had been trying oh-so-damn-hard to achieve for _years_ : which was in getting Natasha Romanoff to talk, _to share,_ and _to open up._ Heck, it had even occurred to Steve that if it wasn’t for pure chance, if it wasn’t for his dumb luck, then he probably wouldn’t even have found out _anything_ at all about Natasha’s life beyond her files’ contents. Such a sad truth, wasn’t it? To realize that his overhearing of Natasha’s conversation that morning was nothing but a stroke of luck, a happenstance, a random event on some random morning. Think about it, folks. Pure _chance._ A random, unintended occurrence. Yeah, that fucking _stung_.  

Now. Ready for that jackhammerin' deathblow? Okay, then. Brace yourselves.

A simple 5-word phrase: “ _Even Clint doesn’t know this…”_

There.

 _THAT,_ was the deathblow.

The moment Steve heard Natasha whispering those 5 words to Bruce, he felt his heart plummet through the center of the Earth. He had decided to stop listening right at that precise moment, because there really wasn’t much point in listening further. Steve already had his answer, and the answer was painfully clear: Natasha trusted Bruce more than anybody else. More than himself, and hell, possibly even more than _Clint_.

Yeah folks, you’ve heard right. More than _Clint_. _Clint_ , the person whom she had the _longest_ history with. _Clint,_ who had saved her life from the jaws of the KGB. _Clint,_ who had helped her obtain a new life among the good guys (sort of, I mean, it’s what SHIELD stood for that counts). _Clint,_ who had brought her over to the side of the light.

Steve had always thought that there was nobody else that Natasha Romanoff would trust more than Clint Barton.

Steve was wrong.

Dead wrong.

To Steve, that was enough proof that Natasha wanted Bruce. Yeah. Natasha _wanted_ Bruce, and not just as a close friend/brother like with Clint; and most definitely not as a puny, insignificant work partner like with Steve himself. She wanted Bruce as a _lover_. Other than that, Steve really couldn’t think of any other reasons to explain what he had discovered through his eavesdropping that morning. Clearly, Bruce had invoked a _desire_ for intimacy within Natasha that made her so willing to share things about herself. Bruce had successfully gotten her to let him _in_ , to let him _into her heart._ And through that intimacy, they somehow forged a bond so strong that it transcended _any_ bonds of friendship Natasha had ever had. What else could that be if not romantic love? Why else would she have granted Bruce (a man whom she had barely known for 5 years) the privilege to know things about herself that were unknown even to _Clint_ (her _savior_ , the person whom she had had more than a fucking _decade_ of history with)?

It had to be romantic love, right? What else could it be?

After recovering from the initial shock due to his discovery that morning, Steve had put on his de minimis fake smile, made some shuffling noise with his feet, cleared his throat a few times and maybe sniffed loudly for a bit in an attempt to alert the duo of his presence in the hallway. He at least had the decency to wait for their voices to cease before he made his entrance into the common room. He greeted them both with forced exuberance and noticed that they were both dressed in their work clothes from the prior day. That’s right, not sleep wear, but work clothes. Which could only mean one thing: they never went to bed, they had talked straight through the entire night. Bruce politely greeted him back, but Natasha just sort of… stared at him. He really wondered if she had already figured out his little act back then, but at that point, he was honestly too hurt to care. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left quickly for the gym.

Oh, and by the way, Steve had also managed to set a new record for himself at the gym that morning. Because he got his fist stuck within a punching bag for the first time in his near 100 years of natural existence, by punching _through_ it. And boy, did he get an earful from Stark for that stunt.  

Still, Steve was a gentleman. He couldn’t really hold it against Natasha for pursuing her own happiness. So he gave her his silent blessings and tried to be happy for her instead. Okay, maybe he wasn’t really _happy_ per se, but he supposed he _could_ live with seeing her happy?

Even if it was with another man……another man, who was also his friend……

Oh balls, he honestly had no fucking clue if he could even live through that. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t hurt or heartbroken. He was in love with the lady, for heavens’ sake, how the hell was he supposed to be okay with seeing her loving another man? Maybe he should just shave his head and become a monk. He had heard great claims about the ‘way of the monk’ being the surest path towards inner peace. Perhaps that could help him get over his feelings of heartbreak or longing or whatever. Or perhaps he could even take up a sworn oath of lifelong celibacy, dedicate his life to the job and see how that goes.

The sound of birds pecking against the glass of the tall windows pulled Steve out from his thoughts. All of a sudden, Steve snapped out of his reminiscences and descended back into reality. He glanced around him, taking note of his surroundings, trying to remember where he was and what he had been doing before. _Wakandan Institute of Science. Cryogenics Department. Bucky’s procedure._ Right. He had been standing at the lobby for… probably a long time. Just to be clear, it wasn’t often that he’d lose his bearings like this, it usually occurred when he was hungry or, apparently, when he was lovesick.

_Great, I’m lovesick now. Not even the serum stood a chance against that sickness._

The mist got thicker as the afternoon stretched on. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as Steve continued to stare out the window from the Institute of Science building. Steve wondered how Bucky must be feeling right then. Was he in peace? Was he dreaming? Would the dreams be nice? Would the dreams involve the life that he might have led? Or would the dreams involve the horrors of his life as a HYDRA assassin? Steve briefly considered the possibility of asking T’Challa for a second cryochamber, this time so that he himself could be put on ice. Perhaps he could finally find peace in the stagnation? After all, Captain America was just a supersoldier. As long as there weren’t any threats, the world would have no real need for Steve Rogers, right? And besides, the whole world kinda hated him after everything with the Accords. So it wasn’t like he’d be missed if he went back under. But he suppose he would never be able to see Natasha again if he truly chose to go back under. That would be a huge bummer, wouldn’t it? Then again, would it matter? Would it make a difference to her at all? Would she even miss him if he was gone? That last question was a dangerous one, Steve realized. It was those kind of questions whose answers you both wanna know and don’t wanna know at the same time.

Bit by bit, the growing mist engulfed the head of the Panther statue, obscuring it from Steve’s view. How the hell should he spend his remaining time here in Wakanda? It was a beautiful nation with so much to be explored. But he wasn’t sure if he was even ready to explore anything at the moment. After the fight in Siberia, he still felt kinda strung out, and skittish; definitely not the right conditions to do the beautiful Wakandan sights any justice. Then again, perhaps exploring the nation could help calm his nerves a little bit, and perhaps help him get back his bearings? After everything that happened, he could surely do some calm, especially if he was planning to execute an intricate rescue mission which involved breaking into the world’s most secure underwater prison facility.  

Well, he supposed that the top of that gigantic Panther statue _could_ be a pretty nice spot for some calming meditation, if he was indeed serious about taking up that monk thing.

Ugh.

 _Monk? Now where the hell did THAT even come from?_ Steve shuddered at the thought of him…Captain America… with his shield, standing bald. What an uncanny sight. Besides, the serum would regenerate his hair within days and he’d have to shave again, imagine how troublesome that’d be.

Still ruminating over his afternoon plans, Steve let out another heavy sigh, this time causing the glass in front of him to fog up slightly. He supposed he could go back to his suite and get some shut eye? Or maybe he could take a stroll around Central Wakanda? Maybe grab a bite or two?

Or… he could keep staring out of the window and just…zone out?

Well, it _was_ a pretty nice view, and the lobby was all quiet and peaceful… and tranquil…

 _Just a while longer._ Steve decided. Honestly, he just needed a moment of peace, to clear his head. The lobby seemed like the perfect place with the perfect view.

And soon enough, Steve was lost in his thoughts once again.

This time, Steve’s thoughts went back to the conversation he had with Bucky in the lab just moments ago before Bucky went under. Somewhere along playing the love guru, Bucky apprised him that his feelings for Natasha might not be unrequited after all, as inconceivable as that sounded. Okay, well, Steve supposed that there was, indeed, a plus side to that, since Bucky was usually spot on when it came to these kinds of things. It certainly did made Steve _feel_ better, knowing that Bucky could _‘see’_ (God knows how Bucky did it) Natasha’s alleged ‘feelings’ for him. But that was it. Other than that Steve remain completely unconvinced that Natasha ever saw him as more than just a platonic work partner. Like, come on, seriously, what else was he supposed to think? Try as he might, Steve just couldn’t _see_ that Natasha wanted him the way he wanted her. He just couldn’t. And besides, they had been working side by side every day back at the compound after Ultron’s defeat, and yet Natasha never said anything or showed any signs of interest in him. Never even gave him so much as a goddamn hint to show that she might be in the slightest bit interested.

Perhaps he was just too blind to notice the hints?

Natasha was one of the best spies in the world, so maybe she was just good at hiding it?

At that thought, Steve snorted. 

_Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Rogers. Why would she hide it if she really was interested, you moron? It’s not like she was hiding it with Bruce either. Just get over it, pal. She ain’t interested in you. You’re way out of her league... And she probably doesn’t even see you as a man, Rogers. Yeah…just some old relic out of time maybe, or just some dude on super steroids, but definitely not as a man she desires._

Or maybe……

Hell, Peggy had been right all along, he really didn’t know a bloody thing about women in general. Let alone Natasha, who was truly the most maddening, enigmatic, challenging, complicated and frustrating woman he had ever known. Yes, indeed he had reconnected with Natasha after Bruce left. Rebuilt their bond, so to speak. It just sort of… _happened_ , naturally, the very moment they were both thrown into the task of co-leading the New Avengers. Things were pretty good, like they were back on first name basis again, or that they had re-established their repartee and all that. But even with all that, so what? A bond could also be purely platonic, right? Just like her bond with Clint, close friends who did what they did without being romantically involved; Steve remembered a term for that in modern colloquialism… what was it again? Right. The ‘Friend-Zone’. Funny thing though, it was Natasha who had introduced him to that term when they were still partners in SHIELD (getting Captain America acquainted with modern pop-culture had been Fury’s first assignment for the Black Widow after the Battle of New York). Was she subtly giving him a hint back then? That she was ‘Friend-zoning’ him? And come to think of, she _was_ super keen on setting him up with other women back in DC wasn’t she? Did she already noticed his feelings for her back then? Did she set him up on dates because she didn’t feel the same way? Whatever. Not like any of that made a goddamn difference anymore.

Well, guess what, even after they had reconnected during the time they co-led the new Avengers, Steve never did ask Natasha out on an _official_ date in fear of upsetting their status quo. Plus, he didn’t even know back then whether she had completely gotten over her feelings for Bruce. The last thing that Steve’s already mutilated heart needed was to hear Natasha say, _“Oh, I’m sorry, Steve. But I’m still in love with Bruce. It wouldn’t be fair to you…”_ or _“Oh, I’m sorry, Steve. I just don’t see you that way”_ , and then the next thing he knew, she would try to distant herself away from him after rejecting his love confession because things got too, ya’ know? Awkward.

So, no. No widow-dates for Captain America.

Still, that didn’t mean that Steve hadn’t the desire to _go out_ with her. In fact, he did. All the time. It just couldn’t be an official date was all. So anyway, whenever Steve felt like spending time with her outside the job, he would always guise their ‘dates’ as team bonding sessions, never 1 on 1. And, ahem, he might have shamelessly used his position as team leader to incorporate these so-called team bonding activities into the team’s monthly agenda, not that anyone would ever know.

Most of the time, these ‘dates’ were fun.

 _Most_ of the time.

He could never _ever_ forget that one humiliating incident where he broke a beer bottle with his grip in a fit of jealousy after seeing two guys who had the balls to flirt with her right under his nose. No, actually, that wasn’t quite accurate. He had a feeling that the beer bottle’s unfortunate demise had absolutely nothing to do with the two dudes’ attempts to flirt with her. Rather, he was _pre_ -tty sure it was the fact that _she_ had reciprocated the flirting which brought out this…this… _Cro-Magnon,_ side of him. In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing that the beer bottle broke, because if it hadn’t, let’s just say that those two guys would be using wheelchairs for the rest of their lives. Imagine that _._

But here’s the funny thing about Steve Rogers. Despite experiencing these…heartfelt bouts of jealousy every time he saw Natasha flirting with another guy, the ultimate reason which had Steve believing that Natasha wasn’t interested in him romantically was also the fact that Natasha was ‘flirty’ with him. Yeah, that’s right, Natasha flirted with him too, the kind of playful and _meaningless_ flirting, exactly like the way she’d flirt with any other average Joe who had enough balls to approach her. But therein lies the problem, you see. It made Steve feel as though that to Natasha, he was just another guy she flirted with, like he was no better than the average Joe. However, with Bruce, she was completely…… _different_. Her interactions with Bruce weren’t just ‘friendly’, per se; they weren’t just playful or sarcastic like with everybody else. With Bruce, she had shown a completely different side of herself, a side which was much more serious and _intense._ There were also strong signs of intimacy and _fondness_ in the way she behaved around Bruce. And then there was also this _look_ that she had, the special look that was reserved only for Bruce. It was this soft look of _adoration_ that she gave Bruce every time she looked at Bruce and _only Bruce_. And needless to say, there was also that little discovery from Steve’s little domestic espionage stunt, which was the fact that Natasha was willing to share with Bruce her dark secrets. Secrets, which were unknown even to Clint. Ha. Ha. Ha. Like as if some dumb Brooklyn punk on self-replicating steroids could possibly top that.

Eventually, the Wakandan tropical fog had thicken to the point that the entire upper half of the Panther Statue was blotted out of Steve’s view, mirroring the melancholia that had penetrated Steve’s mental fortress and that had slowly began to gain control over his mood. With another long sigh of despair, Steve continued to mull and reflect over his relationship (or lack thereof) with the illustrious and beautiful Natasha Romanoff.

Believe it or not, Steve actually had the opportunity to turn the tides in his favor, an opportunity that he never took. That night during Stark’s party to revel the acquisition of Loki’s scepter, Steve’s eyes never left the bar Natasha was tending. Why she was bartending Steve really had no clue. But she was there, looking as beautiful, elegant, sophisticated and classy as ever. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the party, or maybe it was the way Natasha’s curvy figure leaned against the bar top, or maybe it was that Asgardian mead Thor had fed him, but something about that night had Steve feeling… bold. After downing that Asgardian mead, Steve strode towards Natasha like a man on a mission. His mission? To confront Natasha about her ‘relationship’ with Bruce, such as whether or not she had made things official with Bruce, or perhaps to obtain some form of emotional closure for himself – such as whether he still stood a goddamn chance with her or whether Natasha ever saw him in a non-platonic way. Point was, Steve Rogers wanted answers. But apparently, the Universe hated Steve’s plan. Because just when Steve was about 20 feet away from that bar Natasha was tending…… yep, you’ve guessed it – Bruce got to her first. So in the end, Steve just stood back and watched the drama unfold right before his eyes. Gotta hand it to Steve though, he watched the entire scene that night without breaking anything. Good thing he wasn’t holding any bottles or glasses or anything back then. He didn’t break anything. Hah! What a miraculous occurrence. He probably deserved a medal of honor for the exhibition of such a supreme form of self-control. From 20 feet away, Steve watched _and heard_ Natasha slowly worked Bruce up, her voice flirtatious but also with a touch of sincerity. _A lot_ of sincerity, in fact. To Steve, the way she had communicated with Bruce across the bar that night showed the depths of her feelings for the man. And her facial expression, God, was that the proverbial ‘come-hither’ look he had seen on her face that night? Boy, what a sight. Steve had never _ever_ seen Natasha looking like how she did with Bruce that night, so open and so… _whipped._ Heck, he’d never even thought that Natasha was capable of being that open with _anyone._

 _“But never say never…”_ Steve repeated Natasha’s own words in a painful whisper that night as he observed their entire exchange from 20 feet away. And oh by the way, did he mention that he didn’t break anything that night at the party? Yeah? Well, he wanna take that back, since that wasn’t quite the truth. Because the truth was, he _did_ actually break something that night. He broke his heart.

The inevitable conclusion which came to Steve’s mind that night was that Natasha was in love. With Bruce. Not that Steve hadn’t had suspicions about that little fact before that night at the party. Pfft, okay, honestly, what Steve saw that night was merely a corroboration to an obvious truth which he had, until then, been too afraid to accept. The fact was that Steve knew, logically, that Natasha had every reason to fall for a man like Bruce Banner. Jesus, just _count_ the number of qualities that the man had. Intelligent, brilliant, a freaking genius for Heaven’s sake, handsome, kind, classy and etcetera, etcetera. In other words, Bruce Banner was _everything_ that a dumb punk from Brooklyn wasn’t. Bruce Banner had attractive qualities that didn’t come out of a fucking test tube.

That night at the party, Steve truly felt like a goddamn fool for even thinking that he ever stood a chance with Natasha. He felt like a fool, for getting all excited and beatific when Tony called him back to the tower. He truly felt like the biggest, legitimate fool in the world. Heck, believe it or not, Steve even had a goddamn speech written down the night before he left Hungary for New York, yeah, that’s right, a long, lame, cheesy speech written down in some cheap yellow pad to finally tell Natasha about his feelings. And God, that wasn’t even the worst. Here’s the saddest part: Steve had even been presumptuously, and pathetically _,_ _planning_ for his first date with Natasha while he was riding his bike to the Tower for the team’s reassembling (he thought of taking her to that little place where he knew had the best milkshake in the world).

First date plans, the fucking speech, the thoughts of their first real kiss, his own naiveté, his stupid hopes and whatnot, all of them were crushed into a gazillion pieces the moment he arrived at the tower to see Natasha cozying up to one Bruce Banner.

Yeah, he was a fool. A fucking foolish fool.        

Pragmatically speaking, Bruce’s reluctance in taking the next step with Natasha was Steve’s chance to turn the tides. He could have walked up to Bruce that night and spout all sort of crap about how Bruce should stay the hell away from Natasha, or about the Hulk being a threat to Natasha’s personal safety. The gentleman in Steve, however, disagreed. After witnessing Natasha’s little I’m-so-in-love-with-you-that-I’m-completely-open-when-I’m-with-you show that night? Steve had thrown in the towel right away. As much as it pained him, he could never ever allow himself to get in the way of Natasha’s happiness. Clearly Bruce made Natasha happy, _extremely,_ happy. And Natasha _deserved_ all the happiness in the world, so Steve wouldn’t allow himself to stand in the way. Therefore, he activated his self-sacrificial mode and did the honorable thing. He gave Bruce the push and tried to dwindle Bruce’s reluctance in taking the next step with Natasha.

 _“You both deserve a win”_ , Steve had told Bruce that night, officially giving Bruce his blessings, all the while trying his damnest to keep a straight face. Undoubtedly, that selfless act had left Steve’s heart completely _mutilated_ , a pain that transcended even the Super Soldier Serum’s healing capacity.

Surprising?

Well. Not really. Putting himself on the line so that others could be happy? Hello? That literally had Steve Rogers written _all over it._

Steve Rogers the sacrificial martyr.

Steve Rogers the hero.

God’s Righteous Man.

That’s Steve Rogers for you, folks. The guy who would lay down on the wire and let _the other guy_ (quite literally in this case) crawl over him. The man who would always put other people’s needs before his own. The man who was literally the _bane_ of the concept known as quid pro quo. The man who would sacrifice his own happiness for the happiness of others. The selfless guy who left the first woman he loved behind and plunged a plane into the ocean to save an entire city. The selfless guy who silently pushed the second woman he loved into the arms of another man just so she could be happy. It didn’t matter that it was all at his expense, and it didn’t matter that he himself was hurting, because he would always find a way to complete the mission somehow like a good soldier. As long as the people he cared about were happy and safe, he would consider his duty done, mission accomplished. Even though it was all at his fucking expense.  

_The man who sacrificed EVERYTHING……_

The good man, that Abraham Erskine had wanted him to become. At least he got this part right.

 _At least I’ve kept my promise to Dr. Erskine so far. Being a good man, doing the right thing and all. Cheers to me._ Steve thought wryly to himself as he continued his incessant staring out of the fancy windows at the lobby. His gaze remained fixated on the Panther statue, mainly because the statue was then the only object visible amidst the thick fog. His eyes was really beginning to hurt due to all his staring – he wasn’t even sure when the last time he blinked was – but he didn’t care.  

The mist cleared away slightly to reveal the Panther’s head once more. The mid-section of the statue, however, remained obscured; like an object missing its core; like a man, stripped of his heart and soul.

Like the current Steve Rogers.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s melancholic reminiscence ended when he picked up the sound of footsteps from behind him. He made no effort to turn around but straightened his posture nonetheless. Always ready for a fight, like a good soldier. Using the reflections on the window, Steve saw that the person approaching him was none other than his host, King T’Challa. T’Challa stopped on Steve’s left and they both shared a moment of silence.

“Thank you for this, Your Highness. What you did to help Bucky… that’s very kind and honorable of you, despite everything that happened…” Steve said, still staring out of the window.

“Your friend and my father… They were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace…then I will. Consider it my way of honoring them.” said the King.

Another moment of silence passed before Steve spoke again, “You know if they find out that he’s here…they’ll come for him. HYDRA, the government… everyone.”

King T’Challa, unfazed by the warning, merely took a step forward and declared, “Let them try…… and if they do, rest assured that they will have the full wrath of the Black Panther awaiting them behind the walls of Wakanda.”

Steve stood in awe of T’Challa’s bravery, and had obviously refrained himself from commenting about how HYDRA wasn’t a force to be trifled with and that HYDRA had every capability to infiltrate any nation, vibranium-rich or not.

At Steve’s silence, T’Challa continued, “Justice, is Wakanda’s code. It is what our nation represents; just like how America represents freedom and liberty. The moment I assumed the mantle of the Black Panther, I had taken an oath to uphold the very same code which had guided my forefathers for so many generations. And therefore, let it be my first decree as the King of Wakanda that your friend be granted liberation and protection from all the injustice and sufferings he had endured hitherto. Mark my words as I say it, Captain. I _will_ protect your friend. No harm would come to your friend as long as _I_ live. That is my promise to you as both warrior and king.”

Just like that, Steve’s respect for the young ruler of Wakanda proliferated.

“You would make a great king, Your Highness. In fact, I think that you already are.” Steve said with unmasked respect and admiration for the new King of Wakanda.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but I gotta ask. How did you know that we were in Siberia?”

“I followed Stark. I knew that he would lead me to you.” T’Challa replied tersely.

Steve nodded.

“Zemo. Where is he now?” asked Steve.

“I handed him over to the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre (JCTC). Stark and I personally escorted him into his holding cell at the Raft prison.” T’Challa said.

“What about Stark? Is he okay?” Steve asked.

“Yes, he is. Physically, he seemed fine to me. He returned to the compound after the escort. I didn’t reveal your location to him.”

Steve nodded in gratitude, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Another stretch of silence passed before Steve broke it, “How much does Ross know?”

“Everything. Including Miss Romanoff’s actions at the hangar…” T’Challa said ruefully.

Steve visibly tensed, “Is she alright? They didn’t catch her, did they?” _God, please… not her too……please no…_

“No. Ross hasn’t found her yet. They raided the compound, but she was long gone. And there were neither physical nor digital traces of her. She’s _very_ good.” T’Challa said approvingly, clearly impressed by Natasha’s adept in espionage.

Steve felt waves of relief spread through his body instantly, but schooled his expressions nonetheless lest he reveal to T’Challa the romantic feelings he still felt for Natasha.

“I’m sorry, Captain. It was I who told Ross about Miss Romanoff’s actions. But that was before I found out the truth about what happened.” T’Challa explained.

“It’s not your fault, Your Highness. You were only doing what you believed was right. That’s all any of us can do.” Steve said.

T’Challa nodded his approval at Steve’s worldview.

Suddenly piqued by the events that occurred in Siberia, Steve asked, “Do you know what happened to Zemo after the fighting started? In Siberia, I mean.”

“Yes, I do. I was hiding in the shadows, listening. After I learnt about Zemo’s orchestration of everything that happened, I followed him. When the 3 of you took your fight away from the lab, I saw the 5 Cryochambers blow up. Zemo probably planted explosives in the chambers before you three had even arrived and then most likely triggered the explosives when you guys weren’t looking. Afterwards, he had attempted to flee the facility. I ambushed him outside and subdued him. He even tried to take his own life when I subdued him, had a cyanide pill in his tooth, but I managed to prevent it.” T’Challa explained.

“He blew the chambers? Why?” Steve asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know. I asked him, but he kept quiet. Never said a single word the entire journey to his prison cell.” T’Challa explained.

“I don’t like this. If it was just revenge he was after, why bother _destroying_ the bodies? There wouldn’t be much point in that unless there were something in the bodies that he wanted to conceal.” Steve reasoned.

“I checked the bodies. They were destroyed, completely. I took the remaining ashes that I could salvage and passed them to my scientists. Nothing could be learned from them, unfortunately. Not even a DNA test could be done.” T’Challa said.

“I see. Can you keep an eye on Zemo? Something fishy is going on here and I don’t like the idea of us not keeping tabs on him. This guy planned the whole thing and played every single one of us like pawns in his game. Also, start digging into his past. Maybe he has allies, friends, people who shared his cause, anything. Find out what he was trying to hide. We don’t know what else he’s got under his sleeves. Until we do, he remains a threat.” Steve said gravely.

“Yes I will. Stark and I agreed on that. We will both keep an eye on Zemo. But for now, worry not Captain. Even if there was something bigger going on, I highly doubt that Zemo had anything to do with it. Because why would he attempt suicide if his plans were still unfinished?” T’Challa reasoned.

Steve nodded in understanding and decided to put his worries aside. Temporarily, anyway.

“How are your injuries? Here in Wakanda, we provide top notch medical facilities. Do feel free to take advantage of our facilities and tend to your injuries, Captain. I assure you, they can be _very_ helpful.” T’Challa said.

Steve politely declined, “Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, I have troubled you enough already. Besides, I heal fast. Surface wounds would heal in another hour. And the few broken ribs would heal by the end of tomorrow.”

“I see. But the offer still stands in case you change your mind. And for the record, you are always welcomed here, Captain.” T’Challa said.

Steve nodded gratefully “I appreciate it, Your Highness.”

“Alright, Captain. I do hope that you have an enjoyable stay in Wakanda.” T’Challa said before turning to leave.

After a few steps, T’Challa halted and said, “For what it’s worth, Captain. I’m deeply sorry about what happened to you and your allies. And do know that if the circumstances were different, I myself would have done things differently. ”

A sad smile formed on the Captain’s features, “Well, Your Highness. Sometimes, you either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain.”

“Captain,” said the King of Wakanda, his voice stern, “allow me to say this, from one warrior to another. You were never a villain, not to me, and certainly not to your allies who fought by your side. You are an honorable soldier, a great warrior and most importantly, a good man. The world might be blind to it, but the lives and cities that you had saved speak for themselves. A man’s worth is determined not by the amount of public recognition he receives, but by his actions and intentions. Just because the world failed to recognize your worth doesn’t mean that you aren’t worthy, Captain. Remember, it often takes another warrior to recognize the true worth of a warrior. Take your allies who stood by you throughout this ordeal, for instance. What _I_ saw, was that you have a team of brave and honorable warriors who willingly sacrificed their freedom to aid your cause and follow you into battle. They did it because _they recognized your worth_. And as a final piece of advice. Do not be swayed by your doubts, Captain. Stay true to what you stand for, and keep fighting. Prove the world wrong.”

T’Challa started to walk away again only to be interrupted by Steve’s voice, “Your Highness.”

T’Challa paused in his strides and turned around to face Steve, “Yes, Captain?”

“Thank you, for your encouraging words. I really appreciate it…” Steve paused, seemingly hesitating, “… but can I ask you for another favor?” Steve asked.

“Of course.”

Steve was pleading.

“If Romanoff ever contacts you… can you…can you keep her safe for me? I mean, _if_ she needs a place to hide, that is…” Steve sighed, “I know that this is a lot to ask for, but Romanoff… she’s… she’s a good person who’s had a very tough life. She’s very important to me, to us – the team. And now, she got caught up in this mess, and I just…” Steve stood up straighter, “We can’t lose her, Your Highness. We can’t.” Steve spoke earnestly, hoping to gain T’Challa’s understanding.

“Consider it done.” T’Challa left the lobby and headed straight for the Cryogenics Lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note:  
> 1) Notice that these chapters in the beginning of this story are super long. Because I feel like I need to set the stage, to interpret the current state of Romanoger's relationship as shown in the current Marvel movies. Which means there will be a lot of recollections and trips down memory lane for both the hero and heroine. I feel that this is necessary if I were to take the current state of Steve and Nat's relationship based on the previous movies and build upon them. I hope that these long recollections and trips down memory lane will not bore the readers.
> 
> 2) Also this chapter contains the first glimpse of the plot twist I have made based on CACW (can you identify what that plot twist is?). This plot twist will mark the beginning of the element of suspense and thrill in The Broken Shield. 
> 
> 3) I have also made sure that all the filler events (in between the movies, or in between the scene of the movies) I came up with were interconnected. I like a big web of things. So every small little detail in my story will have a significant connection somehow in something in the future chapter. Everything is interconnected in The Broken Shield. So do keep your eyes open. I've also made sure that the elements of the story made logical sense. 
> 
> Stay tuned.
> 
> Isaiah.


	9. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explores what Steve does after Bucky's procedure ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explore the emotional side of Steve Rogers' character in this chapter. In the movies, we've all seen Steve. Always so strong, composed, in control of his emotions, despite all the shit he went through. It's like this guy could get over whatever shit in his life with just a snap of his fingers. I don't think that's possible. In this chapter, I will try to make Steve's character appear more human. We will look at the thoughts and emotions that went through his head when he is alone, in private.
> 
> Steve is human. He isn't a robot. And I think we can all agree that Steve Rogers will have a lot of pent up emotions. 
> 
> Enjoy.

_“Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go.” – Hermann Hesse, Winner of 1946 Nobel Prize in Literature_

 

* * *

 

Hitherto, Steve Rogers could readily identify at least two downsides of his seven-decade long experience as a human Popsicle. One, you’d be given weird monikers for the rest of your miserable life (stupid Tony). And two, you’d never be able to walk in the tropics again without looking like a, well, Popsicle. Don’t believe him? Okay. Picture this. You’re in a dessert. A hellish, scorching dessert. And in your hand, you have a Popsicle (sans the wrapper, obviously). Now. Hold that image for 20 seconds, feel the heat of your surroundings. There will be no breeze, no wind, just the scorching sun and your own burning skin (sort of like a natural oven). You’ll soon realize that you’ve begun to sweat, _profusely._ And now take a look at the Popsicle in your hand. You’ll see immediately that it’s melting. Droplets of fluid will begin to flow down the Popsicle’s body as it melts, just like how droplets of fluid will begin to flow down your own body as it sweats. See the resemblance now? Okay. Good. Because that was _exactly_ what Steve felt like right then as he stood outside the glass door at the WIS Cryogenics Department building’s main entrance. Standing there, completely swamped by a wave of sweltering tropical heat, Steve Rogers felt like a goddamn Popsicle on the verge of melting into a puddle.

Steve’s conversation with T’Challa earlier had left his mind positively reeling. Aside from being reminded that Sam, Clint, and the rest of his team were currently imprisoned somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, there was also something else that had Steve on pins and needles.

Zemo had destroyed the Cryochambers back in Siberia.

Zemo had blown the Winter Soldiers to crisps.

All 5 of them.

Baffling.  

What could Zemo possibly gain from that? What else was he involved in? There could be no explanation for that other than the fact that there was something in the test subjects’ bodies that Zemo had wanted to conceal. But what was it? What was it that had driven Zemo to such lengths? What damaging information could the bodies of 5 supersoldiers (which had been uncovered only recently) possibly contain? Even if the bodies _did_ contain classified information, how would it even relate to Zemo himself? According to Bucky, the 5 Winter Soldiers went as far back as the 1950s, way back into Howard Stark’s time. Zemo wasn’t even born back then. Heck, Zemo’s parents probably hadn’t even met yet. So what could possibly be the connection between the Winter Soldiers and Zemo? And how the hell did Zemo even know of the existence of the 5 Winter Soldiers in the first place? Obviously, that intel couldn't have been obtained from Alexander Pierce's files. Otherwise, Tony would've found it ages ago. 

How did Zemo know?

Did Zemo have other plans in mind?

If he did, then what the hell was his true motive? 

What was he trying to hide?

Again. Baffling.

Steve treaded across the large internal compound of the WIS’ building towards the gates. The entire building had maximum security, Steve noted. Which was a good thing, considering the fact that the building currently housed his best friend. Well, he wasn’t even sure if ‘housed’ was the right word for it. To him, the whole arrangement seemed more like those cold storage thingies. But anyhow, security was airtight, too airtight. Pretty sure not even a fly could cross the building’s borders without triggering some form of sensor. For a moment, it really made Steve wonder about the kinds of secrets that might be contained in the WIS building. Drugs? Weapons? Vehicles? Jets? God forbid, more supersoldiers? Steve quickly shook off the unwanted dread at his morbid thoughts.

The entire WIS building was surrounded by tall vibranium fences. Security drones equipped with Taser guns floated about the area, constantly scanning for threats and intruders. The whole thing with the drones reminded Steve a little of Tony’s Iron Legion protocol. One or two drones floated past him as he walked. They stopped only to hover in front of his face for a second before flying off. Probably doing some facial recognition scans. These mechanical creatures never rest, Steve noted. They could go on all day without stopping. No shift-changes required. Inhumane, mechanical, solar-powered robots. If this was what the distant future looked like, then Steve would unequivocally say that he didn’t want to be any part of it. The last time Steve lived in a robotic world, he saw a friggin’ city uprooted from the ground, floating in the sky, waiting to be used as an artificial meteorite to wipe out humanity.

So, no. No robots.  

There were two gates in total. One on the east side of the building, and the other on the west. Steve headed towards the west gate, the one he had used upon his arrival to the building that morning. At the west gate, Steve stopped, and nodded towards the surveillance camera positioned outside the vibranium security booth. The booth’s window slid open to reveal a security guard on duty, as in an actual security guard, human, with flesh and bone. It was quite a surprise that they hadn’t used drones for these kinds of positions. Perhaps the policy makers wanted to boost Wakanda’s employment rate or something.

Steve handed his visitor’s key card to the guard and waited for the gates to open. They were supposed to verify the identity of anything (yes _anything_ , not _anyone,_ it didn’t just concern humans) entering and leaving the facility, and log the data into their system. Heck, at this rate, they’d probably even have a computer program scanning through their logs at all times to look for suspicious activity. See? Like he said before, not even a fly could enter or leave without them knowing. What a diligent bunch.

While waiting for the gates, a sudden thought occurred to Steve.

Supposing the working hypothesis was that Zemo destroyed the test subjects in order to conceal something in their bodies, then, surely, the best way to figure out Zemo’s real motive would be by first identifying the type of information most likely contained in the test subjects’ bodies. That would, in theory, narrow down the list of possible motives.

Okay.

So what type of information, then? Was it the identities of the test subjects? Were any of the test subjects political figures of the past? Or children of important political figures of the past? Was Zemo’s motive political? Was it to avoid a political scandal such as that a previous politician (or someone related to a past politician) was actually HYDRA-affiliated?

Another thought came upon Steve.  

What if one of the test subjects were biologically related to Zemo? If that were the case, then, surely Zemo wouldn’t want anything HYDRA-related to lead back to his own sorry ass, right? What with the secret soldiers now being out in the open and all that. Surely that would be enough incentive to blow the test subjects to kingdom come? But no. No, that wouldn’t make sense, since Zemo had destroyed all _five_ of them. It was quite unlikely that all _five_ of them were somehow related to Zemo. Besides, if they were truly blood related to Zemo, would Zemo blow them to crisp in such heartless a manner…? Okay, on second thought, the latter might still be very much within the realm of possibility, considering the fact that Zemo had blown up the friggin’ UN just to lure the Avengers to Siberia.    

A recent memory flashed before Steve’s eyes. Back in Siberia a day ago, Steve remembered Zemo’s own words directed at the three of them (Tony, Bucky, and Steve himself)

_“If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep… did you really think that I wanted more of you?”_

The serum.

What if it was the serum that Zemo had wanted to destroy? Zemo said so himself, back in Siberia, that he despised enhanced beings, and that he wouldn’t want any more of them existing in this world. Was that it?

Somehow, Steve’s gut told him that things couldn’t possibly be that simple.

The retinal scanner beside the gate came to life, and a mechanical voice requested Steve to step forward. Steve did as he was instructed, and a few seconds later, the gate opened to reveal bustling Wakandan streets.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately for Steve, he soon realized that all his previous questions only led to more questions. Questions, whose solutions seemed so far beyond his reach right then. The whole incident smelled incredibly funky, it literally had trouble written all over it. Something else was going on, and Steve hadn’t a goddamn clue as to what it was. Worst, he didn’t even have a team to back him up this time.

He really missed all the times when Natasha was right beside him. They’d go over ideas and insights together, completing each other’s sentences… God, he missed those times. He missed Natasha. Period.

Plagued by dejection and gloom, Steve began dragging his feet in the direction of his visitors’ suite (T’Challa had been kind enough to provide Steve with top notch accommodation for free). Naturally, the stifling afternoon heat was of no help at all in lifting his spirits. For every five steps he took, he hoped and prayed for a much needed gust of wind, hell, even a light breeze would do, but none came. Instead, he was left with a skin-melting sensation all over his body, and a cranky mood. Soon enough, he could feel drops of perspiration collecting in his eyebrows, dropping onto his shirt, dropping onto his arms. Almost as if it was raining, he thought, a little amused. Perhaps there was a modicum of truth after all in that silly old saying about walking around with a gloomy storm cloud above one’s head.

Then again, there was a silver lining to everything, he realized. Steve couldn’t even begin to describe the relief he had felt when T’Challa told him regarding the task force’s failure in apprehending Natasha. The relief had been monumental, as if he could finally breathe properly again. And even better, T’Challa had agreed to provide Natasha with protection and refuge if she ever needed it. Just like what he had done for Bucky.

Speaking of Bucky…    

For some unknown reasons, even the knowledge that Bucky was in safe and capable hands failed to allay Steve’s heavy heart. Steve knew he had done everything he possibly could to protect his friend. And _this_ now, here, in Wakanda, was undeniably Bucky’s best circumstance thus far. This was Bucky’s best shot at being safe, Steve knew that. There could be no safer place that Bucky could be in than right here in Wakanda. No one could get to him so easily if he was here. Not HYDRA. Not the taskforce. Not the government. Bucky was _safe._ All very reassuring thoughts. So why wasn’t Steve relieved at all?

Plus, Steve knew that Bucky was innocent. Bucky was a victim. So in a way, Steve had done the right thing. Protecting Bucky, uncovering Zemo’s plot, going after the Winter Soldiers? All of those were the right things to do. Okay, admittedly, there were one or two things that Steve could have handled a little better, but regardless, everything he had done hitherto were all done with the right intentions. So where was that sense of fulfillment, that sense of _satisfaction_ which would usually come after knowing that he had done the right thing? Somehow, this time was just _different._ This time, Steve felt no peace at all despite knowing that he had done the right thing.

It was vexing, to say the least.

Because for the very first time in Steve Rogers’ life, doing the right thing felt _wrong._

Everything felt wrong.

Just, _wrong._

Like a mismatched jigsaw piece that couldn’t possibly fit into the larger puzzle of his life.  

Where was all his sense of purpose? His sense of duty? Why did he feel so weak? So lost?  

Lost. He felt so lost, as if he no longer had any form of control in his life; as if he was in the middle of a giant lake with no land in sight, just letting the waves push him to wherever they intended him to go.

He was drifting.

He felt heavy, and yet so _empty_ at the same time.

What a strange sensation.

 

* * *

 

They often say that nature does wonders for the soul.

And it just so happened to be true in Steve Rogers’ case that afternoon. Mother Nature came to Steve’s rescue. Somewhere along promenading the busy streets of Central Wakanda, Steve felt his soul slightly revitalized.

Perhaps it was the beautiful afternoon sun, or maybe it was the pleasant tropical scent wafting in the air (the smell of damp leaves, sodden twigs and earth was omnipresent in Central Wakanda), but there was just _something_ in the Wakandan ambience that afternoon which pulled him out of his misery; something which made the afternoon heat a tad bit more bearable. And almost immediately, Steve found the notion of self-confinement in an empty suite positively revolting. The afternoon was just too beautiful to be wasted indoors. What was he supposed to do back in an empty suite anyway? Sleep? Stare at walls? Yeah, well, unlike a certain redhead, Steve Rogers seriously couldn’t find anything appealing on any goddamn wall worth staring at. A lazy afternoon stroll sounded like the better way to go.

Besides, an excursion would serve as the perfect opportunity to take his mind off things, clear his head a bit. He could use the time to distract his mind and let it rest until he was ready to start figuring out his next move. He knew he would have to deal with whatever fallout which had befallen his friends. But for that, he also needed a clear head. He needed this.

Bypassing the route to his guest suite, Steve strolled towards Central Wakanda’s commercial area, which was conveniently located right at the heart of town. He figured it to be the smartest way to start off, since there was this massive direction board (and a huge map of Central Wakanda) located there, which he could then use as a guide. After perusing and memorizing the map, he quickly moved on to his next stop.

His next stop was a flea market of some sort. Some kind of bazaar. The place was buzzing with activity by the time Steve got there. Store owners were shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs in some local tongue which he hadn’t any inkling of. A group of street performers tapped away on their huge drums while another bunch plucked diligently at some weird-looking stringed instruments. There was also a man among the crowd, who was juggling ten balls while balancing 3 bottles on top of his head. It was… _normal._ Not that juggling ten balls while balancing bottles was the usual definition of ‘normal’. But this was _life._ These people had actual _lives_ to live. They had lives worth living. They were all so… happy. And _carefree._ These people truly _lived._

All of a sudden, looking at the scene surrounding him, looking at the lives of the strangers around him and the pure joy surrounding these people, Steve realized something. He realized that _this,_ was what the Avengers were truly meant to fight for. This was why they fight, to preserve the lives and freedom of these people. To preserve joy and happiness in the world. To preserve freedom. Now, _that,_ was why they fight. That was their true calling. That was supposed to be what the Avengers Initiative was all about. The Avengers were meant to be the sentinels of freedom. Not as tools in some bureaucratic agenda.

One particular store in the flea market caught Steve’s eye. It was the only store with an English name:

 THE OUTSIDERS

The store turned out to be a distributor of miscellaneous goods, goods pertaining to other cultures outside the borders of Wakanda, hence the store’s name. Steve scanned and took in the entirety of the store, and found many things of interest to him. But he also thought it strange when he found no signs of the store owner’s presence. At one corner of the store, Steve saw a myriad of booklets on display. Each booklet for sale featured each country from the outside world. Steve spied the booklet which featured the Unite States of America, and was quite surprised to see his own face plastered on the booklet’s front cover. A national symbol. A hero. A Captain. Those titles which were already lost to him. The world no longer saw him as a hero, but as a fugitive. To the eyes of the public, Steve Rogers was probably nothing more than a failed science experiment. He was Captain America no more. And what good was Steve Rogers if he wasn’t Captain America anymore? Was there even a place in the world for him other than being Captain America?

Steve’s hand seemed to possess a mind of its own when it crawled its way towards the booklet featuring Russia. Without much restraint from his brain, his fingers picked up the booklet. Dreamily, Steve’s hand caressed the booklet’s front cover, his fingers hovering over the mosque-like printed figure of the Kremlin.

_Nat…_

_Where are you?_

_Are you safe?_

_I miss you…_

_Find me…_

_Or let me find you…_

_Let me touch you…_

_So that I know that you’re okay…_

Steve flipped to a random page, and saw the figure of a beautiful woman clad in a leotard.

A ballerina.

_Natasha…_

_I love you._

Steve dropped the booklet, as if its surface had suddenly scalded his skin. He let out a ragged sigh and tore his gaze away from the booklets’ corner.

_Get a fucking grip, Rogers._

The store was quite large. On the walls, there were huge racks with printed T-shirts on display. There were also bags and, hell, even slippers. Steve's sight fell on the store’s trinkets section next. There, he spotted something quite ornate. It was a bunch of wax figurines. All exquisitely manufactured. They were all relatively small (compared to an actual wax sculpture of someone), probably about the same size of his palm. Most of the figurines, Steve noticed, were of historical figures, some of which he could readily recognize (thanks to Natasha’s many history lessons). On the display rack, he easily spotted figurines of Albert Einstein, Richard Feynman, Isaac Newton, Stephen Hawking, Charles Darwin, Neil Armstrong, Gandhi, Leonardo Da Vinci, Mozart, Beethoven, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, Bruce Lee, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, Martin Luther King Jr, Marilyn Monroe, and hell, even Adolf Hitler. But the next bunch were the ones that actually brought a genuine smile to Steve’s face. They were a bunch of special figurines singled out from the main collection and placed in their own section.

Steve chuckled. 

It was a collection of figurines featuring the founding members of the Avengers. The 6 veterans. Himself. Natasha. Tony in his Iron Man suit. Clint. Thor. And the Hulk. The Avengers’ figurines, Steve noticed, were a little bit different from the rest. Because on the back of each Avengers’ figurine there was this little pin with a metal chain attached to it. An interesting feature. 

Somehow, his naughty fingers (magically) ended up caressing Natasha’s figurine. He picked it up and studied it. The figurine was modelled based on Natasha in her full Black Widow combat suit.

_Damn. It looked just like her._

And upon further scrutiny, Steve realized that it was the newest version of her catsuit, the same one she wore when they fought against Ultron last year. Steve then inferred that the creator must have based it on the Natasha from a year ago during Ultron’s reign. Which would make sense, considering the design of the figurine’s combat suit, and also the fact that the figurine had short hair. Regardless, the figurine was beautifully made. Whoever made it was highly skilled, no doubt. As a fellow artist, Steve could truly appreciate the beauty of it. The attention to detail, for instance, was absolutely astounding. Despite its relatively small size, the figurine had most of Natasha’s telling features captured. The fiery red hair, the sparkling green of her emerald eyes, the plumpness of her lips, the fullness of her chest and backside, the glowing blue of her batons, the metallic glint of her Glocks holstered on her thighs, the curviness of her figure. God, even as a figurine, Natasha Romanoff was gorgeous.

A gorgeous figurine based on a gorgeous woman.

_God bless whoever that made this._

“It’s a masterpiece, isn’t it?” A thickly accented male voice sounded from behind him.

Steve turned around and saw a middle aged man with a girl standing beside him.

_Must be the store owner._

“Indeed it is, sir. It’s stunning. Did you make these?”

“No, I didn’t. But my daughter did.” said the man as he pushed the girl a couple of feet forward. The girl stumbled a couple of steps ahead towards where Steve stood.

To say that Steve was materially impressed would be a severe understatement. Because that girl looked so young, _too_ young. She seemed to be barely ten of age, yet she possessed such astounding artistic genius. _Wow._

“I’m Steve.” Steve held out his hand towards the little girl.

The girl took his outstretched hand rather shyly before shaking it.

“Hel…Hello. I know your name already.” The girl blurted out abruptly before darting backwards to hide behind her father.

The girl’s father laughed and smiled proudly at his daughter, “Sorry, Captain. This one’s a little shy. And she’s a big fan.”

The man muttered a few words to his daughter in local tongue before he pulled the girl from behind his back and pushed her forward once again.

This time, Steve crouched down so that he was at eye-level with the girl, “Hi, Ma’am. May I know your name?”

“Adanna.”

“Adanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady. It’s really nice to meet you, Miss Adanna. I’m Steve Rogers.”

“I… I know.” The girl blushed furiously.

Chuckling, Steve waved Natasha’s figurine in front of the girl’s face and asked, “Did you make this?”

“Yes.”

“This is really beautiful, Adanna. I adore it.”

The girl’s blush deepened, “Thank you.”

“How old are you, young lady? If I may ask.”

The girl looked up at her father instead of answering.

“My little Adanna is turning twelve this year, Captain.” said the man with yet another proud grin.

Still a little dazed, Steve stood up slowly from his crouching position, “Twelve… So young.” Steve’s gaze went back to the figurine in his hand and said, “And she’s really talented.”

“She is isn’t she?”

“How much can I get one of these for?” Steve asked.

“For the special Avengers figurines we sell them at an equivalent price of 15 US dollars per piece.”

Knowing that the store accepted foreign currencies (God knows why though. It wasn’t like they have much foreign visitors here in Wakanda), Steve brightened up.

“I’ll take it.”

At that, the man murmured something to his daughter. The girl disappeared to the back of the store seconds later.

“Just this one?” asked the man strangely.

Steve stared at Natasha’s figurine affectionately, his eyes tracing every curve and every feature of the beautiful wax figurine.  

“Yeah… just this one.”

Steve looked back up only to discover the other man’s knowing stare directed at him.

“So the Black Widow. She is dear to you?”

Steve smiled wanly, “Yes, she is. Very.”

“Lovers?” the man smiled back.

Steve felt a slight twitch in his eye.

Probably some dust. Or pollen. Yeah. Just dust. Nothing else. Right.

“No. Not lovers. Just… very close friends.” Steve replied with a light shake of his head, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep the sadness out of his voice.

“She’s her favorite too, you know?” remarked the man.

“Pardon?”

“The Black Widow. She’s my daughter’s favorite.”

Steve smiled a little at that, “I see. So the Black Widow has a young fan. I’ll make sure to let her know…”

 _If I ever see her again…_ Steve thought sadly.

The man let out a sigh.

“It took Adanna the longest time to finish The Black Widow’s figurine. 2 months, Captain. 2 months.”

“How about the rest?”

“The rest only took her 2 weeks.”

“2 weeks for each figurine?” Steve asked, slightly shocked.

“Yes.”

Yet the little girl dedicated 2 long months just for Natasha’s figurine. Four times longer than the other figurines. That itself, spoke volumes of the young girl’s admiration of Natasha.

Steve’s gaze fell onto the figurine on his hand. Well, he wasn’t that surprised, really. Considering the sheer amount of details which contained in that one small item on his hand. Every single one of Natasha’s most ravishing features were there on the figurine. The curvatures and topographies of her face. The curves of her body, of her legs. Even the color of the figurine’s irises matched perfectly. 

_So beautiful._

Steve nodded, “Just by looking at her outstanding work, I can see that your daughter truly looks up to the Black Widow.”

“She does. She always said that the Black Widow inspired her to be stronger after…” The man’s voice turned sad at the end.

“So there’s a back story…” Steve remarked warily.

Steve stared at the other man, waiting to see if the latter was willing to divulge. The man seemed hesitant.

After a good ten seconds of awkward silence, Steve decided to put the man out of his misery, “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, sir. This clearly concerns your daughter’s private life. I’ll respect that.”

The other man waved him off and began talking, which made Steve realized that it probably wasn’t because the man didn’t want to talk about it, but because the man himself was still trying to find the right words for it.  

“Adanna… when she was 8 years old, she was... assaulted. Sexually.”

Steve felt his jaw clench.

“I’m sorry.” said Steve, his face wore a grim expression.

Steve saw guilt flash in the man’s eyes.

“It was my fault. I left her alone at the store one late evening. Then a man came in and just…”

Steve nodded in comprehension of the unsaid words. In fact, Steve had hoped to spare the other man from having to actually say the words. Those words which had undoubtedly haunted the man’s sleep every night. Having once failed Bucky, Steve could totally relate to that type of pain. That haunting guilt. All the nightmares. But Steve expected this guy’s experience to be infinitely worse. The guilt behind failing one’s own child, one’s own flesh and blood; that was pretty much insurmountable.

“Was he ever caught?”

“Caught 2 days after the incident by the royal guards. The late King T’Chaka made sure of the culprit’s exile and imprisonment. He was locked up in a prison somewhere outside Wakanda.”

“How did Adanna fare afterwards? Did she ever recover?”

“Not mentally. She became closed off ever since that incident. It pains me greatly to see her go through such ordeal.”

Steve’s hand rested on the man’s shoulder in a firm grip, “Sir, whatever it is, I believe that your daughter will fully overcome it one day. The fact that she’s now back in this store helping you run it? I think that’s saying a lot. I mean, this store is where it all happened, and yet she’s still here. Instead of running away, she chooses to face her demons head on. That takes a lot of courage and strength. You should be proud, sir. Your daughter is a strong girl.” said Steve with unmasked admiration for the young girl.

The man’s eyes misted over.

Steve threw him a reassuring smile and said, “And besides, she does seem fine now, sir, wouldn’t you say? A little shy, but she seems okay.”

“Yes she does.” The man paused slightly, “And I believe I have the Black Widow to thank for all that, Captain.”

“Really now?” Steve’s eyes lit up gleefully, gratefully filing away that information for future use – mainly when he needed to convince Natasha that she wasn’t the monster she thought she was.  

“Indeed. Adanna told me herself that the Black Widow inspired her to be stronger, and to overcome whatever obstacles thrown in her way. In fact, shortly after she came to know about the Black Widow, my little Adanna bounced back, Captain. Started devoting her time to making these figurines.” the man gestured across the rack with all the figurines.

“And at the same time she also found her talent.” Steve nodded appreciatively, feeling proud of the little girl, even when he was barely acquainted with her.

For a moment, neither men spoke.   

“Fascinating isn’t it, Captain, what one person could do to change the life of another even without knowing it…” said the store owner.

_Amen to that._

Just then the little girl emerged from the back of the store carrying a big tray containing a bunch of card-sized metal plates. The metal plates reminded Steve of the scaled up versions of his military dog tags.

The man procured a piece of paper and a pen from God knows where (Steve wouldn’t know, because he was too busy staring at the little girl with new found admiration).

“Now Captain, would you care to write down your inscription?”

For a moment, Steve looked confused, “Excuse me?”

“You see that metal chain at the back of the figurine?”

Steve stared down at his hand and turned the figurine around.

Something clicked in the good Captain’s mind.

“Right. I see. So that’s what the chain is for… To attach those metal plates onto the figurine?” Steve stole a quick glance at the tray containing the plates on the little girl’s hand.

“That’s correct. If you would write down your message, I could have it engraved onto one of the metal plates by the end of today.”

In a heartbeat, Steve agreed and took the pen and paper. It took him a couple of moments of quiet thought before he began writing on the paper.

 

*     *     *

 

“So I’d come by the store tomorrow then? To collect the figurine.” said Steve when he passed the pen and paper back to the man together with the required cash for their transaction.

“I'd do you one better, Captain. I'd have it delivered to your accommodation. You’re staying at one of His Highness’ Guest suites, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright then. It should be there at the front reception by tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“One last thing before you go, Captain. You have to choose the metal plate you want your message engraved on.”

Adanna held out the tray to Steve. The latter perused the options with fascination. The choices were quite diversified and they came with numerous sizes and shapes. There were those with the most basic shapes: squares, circles, ovals, ellipses. Then there was one which took a shape resembling a cloud. And then there was-

Steve’s eyes lit up.

_This is it._

Without a second’s hesitation, Steve made his choice. It was a metal plate with a shape resembling the outline of a pair of wings – angel’s wings. The wings would complement Natasha’s figurine aesthetically. But more importantly, it’d add metaphorical meaning to the whole gift.

“Good choice, Captain.” the owner remarked with a smile.

Steve nodded and turned to leave, but stopped short at mid-turn, as if an idea just hit him.  

He slowly turned back to face the owner, his expression nothing but serious.  

“Just now, you mentioned something about how one person could change the life of a complete stranger…” Steve said.

“I did.”

“Sir, if I were to give you and Adanna the chance to change the life of a complete stranger for the better, would you agree to it?”

The man frowned, “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Captain. What are you suggesting?”

“You said that the Black Widow inspired Adanna greatly. So if you don’t mind, I was thinking maybe Adanna could leave a message or something for her hero? You could include it together with the package you’ll be delivering to my suite tomorrow, and then I’ll pass the message along to the Black Widow for you when I meet her. ” Steve turned to smile at the little girl.

The girl’s father stared blankly at Steve, which immediately had Steve panicking, fearing that he had somehow crossed a line and committed some kind of faux pas.

Steve added quickly, “It doesn’t have to be long or anything. I mean, it could be a simple handwritten message, or a drawing, or even that same metal plate engraving.”

“Adanna? What do you think?” The man turned to his daughter.

The shy little girl whispered something unintelligible into her father’s ear.

“She wishes to know how her message could possibly change the life an Avenger.”

Steve nodded. _A fair question, I suppose._  

“Our jobs…” Steve sighed, “Sometimes to us, it feels like nothing we do ever make any difference. And more recently, people are even happy to call us villains and vigilantes instead of heroes. It’s like, all that we ever did was making things worse rather than better.”

“We both know that’s not true, Captain. The Avengers saved the world. Twice.”

Steve threw a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And that’s why Adanna’s message will mean a lot to the Black Widow, to all of us, even. It really helps to be reminded that what we do really does make a difference in people’s lives. A good difference.”

The owner nodded in understanding.

Steve continued, “Look, I can’t exactly go into too much details here. But I think among all the Avengers, the Black Widow’s the one who needs these kinds of reminders the most. Natasha… She’s a wonderful woman who’s had a very tough life. Most of the time, she finds it hard to see the good in herself. So if… if Adanna’s willing to leave a message, then it’ll serve as a reminder to Natasha, to all of us, really. If you do that, then I can assure you, it’ll mean a lot to Natasha.”

“I’ll do it.” said the little girl resolutely.

Steve smiled in relief and crouched down, “Thank you, Ma’am. I really appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome…”

For a while, Steve paused, as if thinking hard about his next question. Then his expression turned playful, “Say, Adanna, would you like to meet your hero one day?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up, “Really?”

“Of course. I’ll even tell her all about you when I meet her. And we’ll come visit you when the time’s right. So, what do you say, Miss Adanna? Excited to meet the Black Widow?”

“Oh, yes! That’s great! Baba! I can’t believe this is happening…” the little girl pulled at her father’s sleeves, her eyes filled with unshed tears of joy.

Her father smiled and chastised her for her rudeness, causing the girl to tamper down her excitement and return her attention to Steve.

“Thank you so much, Captain. I truly look forward to meeting her.”

Steve chuckled and patted the girl’s head, “I know. And please, it’s Steve.”

“Will she really come see me?”

Steve smiled a little, “Trust me little miss. She most definitely will.”

The girl squealed, “Oh, I’m so happy…”

“Good. So until we meet next time, promise me that you’ll take good care of yourself and your daddy, okay?”

“I promise.”

Steve stood back up and extended his hand to the owner, “Thank you for all this.”

The latter shook the extended hand, “You’re welcome. It is I who should be thanking you, Captain. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen Adanna this happy.”

“You have a wonderful daughter. Take good care of her until we meet next time.”

“I know. And I will. Enjoy your stay in Wakanda.”

Steve nodded, “See you around, then. Mister…” Steve laughed, “Sorry, how rude of me, I didn’t even ask for your name…”

“Nkululeko.”

“Mr. Nkululeko...” Steve paused, “That’s a Xhosa name, right?”

“That’s correct, Captain.”

“What does it mean?”

“Freedom.”

 

* * *

 

 Mr. Nkululeko unfolded the paper and began reading its contents:

To: NATALIA ALIANOVNA ROMANOVA,

HUMANITY’S BRIGHT JEWEL.  
A PARAGON OF FEMININE STRENGTH.  
AN INSPIRER OF YOUNG GIRLS.  
AN ADMIRATION OF MEN.  
A LOYAL PARTNER.  
A LOVING AUNT.  
AN AVENGER.  
AN ANGEL.  
A LIFE SAVER.  
MY BEAUTIFUL HERO. 

Know that you are loved, Natasha.

Always. 

From: Your partner and friend, S.G.R.

 

He smiled. And showed the paper to his daughter.

Seconds later, Adanna smiled too. Brightly. _Happily._

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on his daughter’s face. 

 

* * *

 

Rock climbing.

That, was what Steve ended up doing by the time late afternoon came. Safe to say that Steve’s lazy afternoon excursion into Central Wakanda took quite a sizable turn. Don't worry. You haven't missed any memos.

He’d gladly fill y’all in on how he got to that point.

It began after Steve left The Outsiders, when the flea market lost its appeal. Thing was, Steve had a flashback. Something about the atmosphere of that bazaar had reminded him of their failed mission in Lagos a few days ago. He remembered every detail of that mission. His battle with Rumlow took place in a setting which bore much resemblance to Central Wakanda’s flea market. So Steve had fled the market towards the edge of town, away from the hustle and bustle of town, away from the painful reminder of their failed mission.  

That was kinda how Steve ended up somewhere near the vicinity of the Wakandan rainforest. That area, however, was like a ghost town. The exact opposite of the flea market. At first Steve had thought it to be a recreational area of some kind, but there were neither signs of life nor signs of any recreational facilities. There were no benches around, no playgrounds, no nothing. The only thing he could see were tall fences which formed the boundary between the rainforest and that area.

The entire region was dead. Blighted by inactivity and abandonment. It almost felt godforsaken.

You see, Steve would’ve undoubtedly given up this whole outdoor excursion thing had he not spotted something at the tall fences. It was a little gate with a sign board on top of it:

JUNGLE TREKKING

And all of a sudden, Steve had a completely different idea of how he should spend the remainder of the afternoon, and said idea would involve nature. A _lot,_ of nature. Well, duh, he’d certainly pick Mother Nature over staring at walls anytime. Thrilled with his discovery, Steve had then swiftly returned to his suite and packed a backpack for his impromptu jungle trekking expedition. His backpack contained a bottle of water, a compass (Captain America liked things old school, plus he kinda destroyed his smartphone since smartphones were traceable) and a towel. Oh right, he had even brought his sketchbook and colored pencils along with him, just in case his artistic whims decided to pay him a visit.

And shortly after that, Steve found himself standing amidst the most beautiful tropical rainforest he had ever seen. Not that he had seen a lot of tropical rainforests before. Amid his trekking, Steve felt a sudden, but not totally unwelcomed, surge of nostalgia (trust him, these random flashes happen a lot when you have a super eidetic mind). Back in the war, he sure had his fill of wading through thick forests for hours and sometimes even days on end. Obviously, the circumstances back then were completely different. Jungle trekking in war zones warranted extreme caution on his part as the Howling Commandos’ leader. One mistake would either mean leading his team right into an enemy ambush or stepping right onto a landmine; but this? This was peaceful, tranquil and pleasant. As nice as this was though, Steve still kinda missed his war days. The days spent raiding HYDRA bases and kicking HYDRA asses? And not to mention having a bunch of guys whom he saw as family. Be pretty hard not to miss, right? Yeah, and jungle trekking in the woods? He could do that all day. Totally. But no. Jungle trekking didn’t last, well, not for long anyway. Because something else in the middle of the rainforest caught his attention.

It was a cliff.

The tallest cliff in the entire rainforest area. A cliff which would give him a 360 degree panorama of Wakanda. Perfect spot for a sketch. He briefly wondered the reason he hadn’t notice the cliff when he was admiring the view from the Cryogenics department lobby that morning. Then it hit him. _The mist, of course._ The mist had cleared up by noon, revealing said cliff and most of Wakanda’s natural beauties surrounding it.

It really didn’t take long for Steve to decide to climb up that cliff. One glance at it, and he was a goner straight.   

And…there you have it.  

That was how a supposedly simple and effortless excursion turned into a hardcore rock climbing activity. In his defense though, climbing that cliff wouldn’t be all that difficult for a Super Soldier, so _technically_ , it _still_ was an effortless excursion, by definition. Pfft, honestly? The climbing part wasn’t even remotely a challenge for Steve. He barely broke a sweat. His enhanced strength, agility and his perfect body control enabled him to climb all the way to the top without the use of any climbing gear. The part that was a tad bit tricky, however, was the planning required to find a suitable climbing path; well, unlike his other super friends, Steve couldn’t fly, so if he wanted to get on the cliff top, he would need to find a sequence of protruding rocks that he could actually grab onto as he climbed. The planning part took Steve nearly 15 minutes. And the climbing part? Took Steve just under a minute.

Then again, what he saw as he stood on the clifftop was _definitely_ worth all 16 minutes of his efforts.  

The view from the cliff was nonpareil. Definitely a sight to behold. It was indeed gorgeous when viewed from the lobby, have no doubt, but seeing the Wakandan vista this up-close and sans the mist? Absolutely no competition. Tall, majestic and evergreen tropical trees pervaded the entire region. Lianas and various species of climbing vines unknown to Steve adorned the trees branches and tree trunks, giving the rainforest a certain lively and ‘brightened-up’ feel. Flowers of miscellaneous colors blossomed everywhere, and in great abundance; on the trees, on the shrubs beneath the trees and even on some of the vines; rendering the otherwise monochromatic forest infinitely more captivating. The moist tropical air did wonders by glistening almost every surface available in the forest, giving the entire scene a glossy and satiny appearance. For a good minute or two, the mighty Captain America was rendered speechless. He stood at the edge of the clifftop, mouth agape, taking in everything while his eidetic memory ingrained every bit of information into his brain. At that point, Steve was certain that nothing could come remotely close to the level of beauty which the Wakandan rainforest possessed – except maybe the beauty of a certain redheaded spy. Just when Steve thought that the view couldn’t possibly get any better, the clouds in the afternoon Wakandan sky aligned themselves in just the right way to create beautiful God’s rays. God’s rays. Friggin’ God’s rays. Steve watched the warm rays streamed between the tiny gaps formed by the clouds, making it seem as though the rays radiated from one single point in the sky. Absolutely. Gorgeous.

But wait, Wakanda had more to offer.

The moment Steve closed his eyes to enjoy his rare moment of peace, his auditory senses took over. He was alerted to the sound of water splashing and flowing. Not a very distinct sound, just a hushed and slightly muffled sound (probably due to the thick forests). Anyway, it didn’t take long for Steve to locate the source of the sound. It was a beautiful waterfall which led into a small stream somewhere on the left side of the cliff, barely noticeable due to the trees’ obscuration. Taken in its entirety, the experience was close to divine perfection.  

If only there was somebody he could share it with…

_God, Nat… you have no idea how much I wish you are here with me right now…_

There it was again. That familiar sense of longing, of yearning, and of _craving_ , which he had felt ever since Natasha walked away from him that day at the cemetery. He remembered everything from that day, right down to the finest details. Every juncture, every sensation, every visual, every sound, and every _smell_ , he had all of them ineradicably implanted in his memory.

_“You should be honored. That’s about as close as he gets to saying thank you…”_

Steve remembered hearing her sultry and alluring voice the moment she entered the cemetery grounds, luring him, making his legs move involuntarily towards her in quick strides.

The rest of the memories from that day came flooding back into Steve’s mind.

He remembered the brief brush of their hands when she handed him Bucky’s file;

The light scrape of her beautifully manicured nails against the back of his palm. The trail of goosebumps her touch had left on his skin;

The feminine floral scent of her cologne as she leaned in towards him;

The gentle caress of her beautiful lips on his right cheek; so soft, warm and arousing;

The elegant ‘smooching’ sound produced as her lips left the surface of his cheek;

God, he missed her so fucking much.   

Still standing on the cliff’s edge, Steve’s right hand inadvertently travelled to his right cheek, seeking out the exact spot where Natasha’s lips had occupied 2 years ago when she had kissed him. The texture of her lips all too vivid and stimulating, instantly rekindling the strong romantic feelings he felt for Natasha; feelings, which he had allegedly ‘let go’ of.  

 _Another chance at love gone……_  

_Gone._

His right hand abandoned his cheek and found its way onto his chest, settling itself right in front of his heart. An unconscious attempt to physically soothe the tightness which had been building up in his chest at an alarming rate from the very moment his mind began recalling Natasha’s farewell at the cemetery. The open palm resting on his chest soon transformed into a clenched fist, clutching relentlessly, bunching up his shirt as Steve’s breaths turned ragged and heavy. His vision slowly turned blurry. The moment Steve felt a stinging sensation pulsating in both of his eyes, he knew that he was in trouble. Serious trouble. Because he didn’t think he could stop his emotions, not this time. The potent and forceful emotions which he had suppressed and kept mostly to himself over the years…

The anguish of falling in love with someone he couldn’t possibly have, someone completely out of his league;

The agony of watching from afar the woman of his dreams loving another man;

The pain of watching his chance at love _cruelly_ taken away from him for a second fucking time;

The pain of having known about the decades-worth of horrors Bucky had gone through… all because of his own failure.

He failed Bucky. And because of that, Bucky suffered. Innocent people died.

Howard and Maria perished because he had failed Bucky. The countless of innocent lives Bucky had been forced to take. All those happened because Captain America’s serum-infused ass wasn’t quick enough to grab onto Bucky’s reaching hands on that God-forsaken train carriage.  

The time he had lost while he was under.

The people he had lost to fate; his mother, his father;

The people he had lost to time; his Commandos.

Peggy…

The stabbing pain he’d felt when he carried Peggy’s coffin towards the altar;

Steve’s vision turned into a complete, watery blur. He could no longer see the cliff, the view, the God's rays. Everything was a blur. God, everything hurt. Everything ached right down to his bones.

 _“What made you so SPECIAL??”_ The Red-Skull’s words came back to taunt Steve.

Nothing.

There was nothing special about him. He was just some kid who got lucky, some kid who was at the right place and the right time. He was a fucking nobody. A nobody, who would’ve undoubtedly led a useless and trivial life had it not been for Abraham Erskine’s gift to him; the serum, Steve Rogers’ dumb _luck._

 _“You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. The only thing SPECIAL about you came out of a BOTTLE…”_ Tony’s words rang through his ears, stirring up another wave of emotions in him.

Heck…even _with_ the serum, with all these powers that he was _given for free_ , he was still a failure.

He failed. 

He failed in finding love, _twice._

He failed to save his best friend. The same best friend who didn’t need no serum to save _him_ thousands of times from bullies.

Heck, he even failed in his mission, HYDRA never did die with the Red Skull.

He couldn’t even fulfill the purpose that he was created for.

He never did stop HYDRA.

He failed.

And the whole _world_ suffered at the weight of his failure, because as HYDRA lived, innocent people _died._ _Good_ people died.  

Arnim Zola had been right after all.

_“We won…Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life, a zero sum!”_

_A zero sum…_

A ragged sob escaped the confines of Steve’s lips. That uncontrollable, powerful, and unstoppable first sob.

That was it.

Captain America’s breaking point.

Nobody could possibly stand a fucking chance against _decades_ of pent up emotions, not even Steve Rogers. A catharsis was happening whether Steve liked it or not. Heck, he probably needed the release. And he had more than earned his right for it.

The floodgates opened.

One sob led to another, and each sob more intense than its predecessor. Somewhere between the third and fourth sob, Steve’s shoulders began shaking violently. Tears followed thereupon, torrents of them, gushing down his cheeks, leaving a glistening trail on his sculpted face. For 5 minutes, his ability to think (or to do anything for that matter) failed him. He was entirely powerless against the raging emotions he had accumulated over the years. Around the seventh sob, it finally dawned on Steve that there really wasn’t much point in fighting his emotions anymore, and that this was one battle that he couldn’t possibly win. Heck, he barely had the energy to open his eyes. This time, his emotions triumphed over him, completely and utterly vanquished him. So, Steve did the only thing he could do at that moment. He stood at the cliff’s edge and just cried, and cried, and cried, and cried…… until the tightness in his chest slowly dulled away, until his face became numb from all the contortions it was subjected to, until all his heaves became dry and devoid of air.    

Things would have been a lot easier if Steve could just forget. Problem was, Steve had every single one of those events _clearly_ and _accurately_ committed to memory. Those vivid memories fueled and intensified his emotions, making them extremely difficult to ignore. Fucking eidetic memory. There were times where he was _this_ close to volunteering himself for that ‘mind-shredder’ thingy HYDRA had used to brainwash Bucky. Just so he could forget. Just so he could take a goddamn break from all his pain for _once._

 _Pull yourself together, Rogers. You’re stronger than this._ Steve thought to himself as the sobs slowed down. He swiped harshly to remove the remnants of tear streaks on his cheeks. Time to get his shit together and soldier on. This was _so_ not the time to fall into a depressive emotional breakdown, not right then; not when his allies were trapped in prison, all counting on him to rescue them; and certainly not when the love of his life was out there, running for her life because of _him_. People needed him. And Steve Rogers wasn’t about to become the guy who let people down. Not again. Not _ever._

_Get your act together, Rogers._

_Deep breath in slowly for 4 seconds. Hold the breath for a second. Breathe out slowly for 6 seconds._

A little tip Steve picked up from a SHIELD psychiatrist who had done his psych evaluation before he officially became a SHIELD agent. The sobs ceased. Good, next up, he needed to do something to calm his tumultuous emotions. He had read somewhere on the internet (it was Psychology Today, in fact) about the vast benefits of wishful thinking, and one of them was that it had calming effects. Deciding to give the idea a try, Steve let his imagination roam into fantasy world… 

In his mind, Steve envisioned Natasha in a white, knee-length sundress, standing directly under the waterfall – the same one he discovered before his epic sobbing streak commenced. Steve pictured deluges of water streaking down her figure, soaking her dress completely, and thus revealing the smooth and alabaster skin underneath the now-see-through fabric. The drenched fabric cling deliciously to her body, accentuating every bit of her voluptuous curves, not that it made any difference now that the dress was completely see-through. La-la-land-Natasha raised both arms above her head to push her long red hair back while tipping her head upwards, revealing a column of elegant and beautiful neck. Steve imagined her damp and beautiful red tresses tumbling over her shoulders, falling onto the smooth skin between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted, thereby giving her countenance a blissful and relaxed air; a look so unlike her usual I-can-kill-you-in-a-thousand-ways-using-just-a-paperclip comportment. A soft and feminine sigh emanated from her parted lips, an act which disrupted the stream of the water flowing from her top lip to bottom lip, causing a couple of water droplets to stray away from the main stream. All of a sudden, la-la-land-Natasha’s eyes were on him; her blissful expression slowly morphed into a sly, seductive and playful smirk. She _sashayed_ towards him, that seductive smirk never leaving her face. As she walked, her lips moved as if she was uttering the same word over and over again. Ah, she was saying his name. Steve eyeballed the movements of her luscious lips in slow motion, trying to memorize the way those lips moved. It was a wonder how an _imagined_ act as simple as saying his name could be such a huge turn on. Then again, this was Natasha he was shamelessly fantasizing about, he highly doubt that there was anything that the woman could do without spurring some sort of sexual fantasy in his mind. He watched her lips slowly pursed at the beginning of the word she was uttering, an indication that the word began with a labial consonant–

_Whoa, wait a minute. My name doesn’t begin with a labial consonant._

And… that was the point when Lala Land came crashing down into reality.

Bruce.

That was the name imaginary-Natasha was uttering, not Steve, but Bruce. _Ouch._

So much for wishful thinking.

 _Note to self. Unsubscribe Psychology Today newsletters._  

Releasing a deep, animalistic, growl of frustration, Steve ran both hands through his blonde hair. Damn, he needed a distraction. _Desperately._ But what the heck was he supposed to do in the middle of a freaking rainforest? It wasn’t like he could just find another thing to look at, like say, the trees. What, as if starin’ at green, leafy trees was gonna help him with his ‘situation’ here. Speaking of leaves, maybe he could ask Natasha to pose for him without a single stitch while using only those green leaves to cover herself. He bet she’d look so beautiful that way. Then again, Natasha would look beautiful in literally anything because it was her body that made her beautiful, not her clothes. Huh, on second thought, maybe she should just lose those leaves altogether, that way he could see her–

He was losing his goddamn mind.

 _Come on, Rogers. Think. Distraction. Distraction._  

 _Why don’t you just do a sketch, dummy._ Steve’s inner voice taunted.

Sketch. Right. After all, that was his reason for climbing all the way up the cliff in the first place. But he also needed a sketch subject. So he searched, frantically, for something, anything at all, something from the scenery that he could use as his sketch subject. No more redheaded sketch subjects, obviously, if he wished to keep his sanity intact.

_Nope. No can do, brain. Stay away from sexy and beautiful redheads. AT ALL COSTS. Think of red headed hulks instead…yeah that could work. Or think about a red headed Thor. Yup, that’d probably work too._

5 minutes later, Steve found his ‘AHA’ moment. The Panther statue. He could totally sketch that. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Right. Because he had been shamelessly fantasizing about a certain someone, and not to mention sobbing uncontrollably like a damsel in distress before engaging in said fantasy. Not one of his finest moments, safe to say _._ He began glancing around the clifftop, looking for a good place to sit and work. Once again, nature didn’t disappoint. He found a large boulder near the center of the cliff that sufficed to give him a good view of his sketch subject. So he jumped on top of the boulder, took out his sketching tools from his backpack and started working…

And boy did sketching work wonders for an emotionally distressed man.    

The moment his pencil touched the paper, everything else faded away from Steve’s mind. The burden of protecting the world, the things and people that he had lost, his immediate surroundings; basically, _everything_ else in reality dwindled. He was completely in the zone; his sole focus right then was not to _live_ in reality, but to _recreate_ reality on his sketchbook right down to the finest details. That was the reason Steve loved sketching so much. Because it brought Steve peace of mind. It took away his pain, worries and all other emotional consequences of life. It made him forget the evil of the world, at least temporarily. When he was that sickly kid overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy, he would sketch himself as a mighty warrior going into war. When he was sick of being an American mascot, he had sketched a cute monkey dancing on a unicycle. When he was in love with a woman, he would sketch a portrait, _two portraits_ in fact, of said woman to show her how beautiful she was. Both portraits were decidedly, in Steve’s own artistic judgements, the best artworks he had ever created (because of the sheer amount of emotions that he had poured into the process of creating them). He had gotten those two sketches framed as soon as they were completed and had waited for the right time to give them to Natasha. The right time eventually came during that one time when he knew Natasha was returning from a solo mission in her former neck in the woods. Therefore, before Natasha returned to the compound, he had snuck into her room and placed the 2 sketches on her nightstand along with a bottle of the finest vodka he could find at the time. Steve knew that the mission would be tough on her, so he felt compelled to remind her that she wasn’t the monster she so often claimed herself to be; he wanted her to see herself through his eyes, to see how beautiful and _good_ she was in his eyes. And judging from the high spirits that Natasha was in even days after her receipt of his gift, Steve was _pre_ -tty sure that those two sketches did the trick.

Sitting on that ridiculously large boulder, Steve sketched furiously. His right hand pausing only to swap color pencils from the bundle he held on his left hand. Unlike most artists, Steve didn’t need to take his eyes off the paper to refer to his sketch subject. Courtesy of his eidetic memory, a quick 1-minute study of his subject sufficed for Steve to memorize all the details he needed for his sketch. Line by line, and curve by curve, the initially blank paper transformed into a lifelike sketch of Wakanda’s symbolic Panther. Steve’s artistic talents together with his eidetic memory would have given most contemporary artists a run for their money. However, Steve had never considered exploiting his talents for anything other than as a temporary getaway from the burden of being an Avenger. Finding inner peace for himself or helping others find peace through his artwork; those were the 2 reasons Steve did art. Any reasons other than those two would diminish the meaning and value of art in Steve’s opinion.

It wasn’t until dusk that Steve finally lifted his gaze from his sketchbook. Perhaps it was the constant rumblings and growls of his stomach that finally ended his artistic trance, he wasn’t too sure. He gave his work a quick once over and frowned in dissatisfaction. Something was missing. Of course, to a non-artist, it was an exquisite sketch. But artists, Steve included, were always nitpicking on non-existent details that they claimed ‘distinguish a good piece of art from complete junk’. Much frowning and glowering ensued until Steve could no longer ignore his hunger. Glancing around the cliff, Steve took in his surroundings and noticed streaks of orange rays permeating the sky.

_It’s gonna get dark soon. Better get a move on._

Meh. He figured he could do a final touch up on the sketch later, if ever. At least he had gotten what he needed from the activity: peace of mind, temporary respite from his emotional turmoil over recent events… and over the unfulfilled physical attraction he felt towards a certain redheaded–

_Nope. Uh-uh. Dangerous waters there, Rogers. No more redheaded women, remember? Redheaded hulks. Redheaded hulks. Gingerlocks Thor. Gingerlocks Thor._

GRRRRRRR! 

Apparently, Steve had more pressing matters at hand right then – the tummy tantrums of a hungry super soldier. With one swift motion, Steve stuffed his things into his backpack and leap down from the boulder he was sitting on. As he stood by the cliff’s edge, Steve was confronted by a choice; either to: (A) climb his way down using the same path he came up or (B) jump straight down from the cliff top to the bottom. Neither was an issue for him. Option A would be safer, naturally. But option B would be more time efficient. Ultimately, it was Steve’s tummy that helped him make the final call – by growling so loudly that Steve could have sworn the sound resonated through entire central Wakanda. The sooner he could get back into town, the sooner he could actually alleviate his hunger. _Option B it is then._

He leaped.

 

* * *

 

Steve winced the moment his feet hit the ground; a sharp pain shot through his entire upper torso.

 _Right, gonna have to take it easy on the ribs until they fully heal._ Steve noted to himself.

He could have taken up T’Challa’s offer by utilizing Wakanda’s medical facilities to speed up his healing. But honestly? He wasn’t really in the mood to deal with lengthy medical procedures or nosy doctors bombarding him with questions about the serum flowing in his veins. Besides, he felt almost at 100 percent other than those broken ribs courtesy of Tony’s repulsor beams.

When the pain subsided, Steve started making his way back towards Central Wakanda along the same path he had used for his prior jungle trekking activity. By his estimations, it would take another 15 agonizing minutes or so before he could reach that little gate that brought on the whole journey. So in order to take his mind off his hunger, Steve began working on a plan to infiltrate the Raft. Almost immediately, Steve realized that his mission posed 2 major challenges.

One, information; he would need data, in particular, the blueprints of the entire prison facility in order to work out mission details such as the locations of the best exits, the location where his allies’ battle gears were likely kept, security loopholes of the prison facility, ways of getting to his team that draws minimum attention, and etcetera. He thought about asking T’Challa for help on that front, but ultimately decided against the idea because Steve knew T’Challa’s true goal – which was to form a good relationship between Wakanda and the rest of the world. Hence, Steve wouldn’t risk asking Wakanda’s help for a personal mission that could potentially render Wakanda an enemy to the rest of world; which would clearly be against the will of its King. Worse, if the government somehow found out that Wakanda had aided him in his little prison-break mission, what are the odds that the government would also start speculating about _other_ kinds of help that Wakanda had offered to him? (Help such as hiding his brainwashed assassin buddy, for instance.) Odds would be pretty damn high, surely. So, nope, definitely not letting Wakanda anywhere near the mission.

Two, he needed a good way in. Yeah… Steve knew that this was going to be a tough one. Well, in principle, if he could just remotely control the Raft’s systems, then this particular challenge would be non-existent. But unfortunately, Steve did not yet possess the skills to execute such advanced cyber-attacks. Hence, it seemed that his only way in would be to actually sneak into an authorized vehicle and infiltrate the facility when the Raft’s system recognizes that vehicle; literally knocking on the enemy’s front door and barging in. BUT, Steve would then have to know which vehicles were authorized, where each of those vehicles were located, and how he could gain access to such vehicles. Heck, he would even need to know the Raft’s detailed daily schedules because surely, the guys in the Raft’s control room would only authorize a vehicle if the vehicle was expected to arrive based on some sort of schedule, right? To complicate matters even more, attributes of the vehicles such as serial numbers, manufacturing numbers, their model type; all those information would need to match precisely with those listed in the schedule before they even get authorized for entrance. This ultimately reduced the problem back to the first challenge: INFORMATION. Steve needed those data; access to those schedules, the complete list of all authorized vehicles, everything. Without information, there was really not much that Steve could do.

Steve briefly entertained the idea of launching an assault on the Raft from the outside in order to force the authorities to evacuate the facility. Which could, in theory, provide enough distraction for him to sneak in and rescue his team. But in the end, Steve had deemed the idea as overly risky. Well, because Steve didn’t want to risk damaging the Raft because he hadn’t yet known how the Raft worked – again due to the lack of intel. Hitting the wrong places and risk drowning everyone inside the facility? Nope, definitely a no go. In fact, Steve suddenly thought of another risk that came with the assault plan. What if the prisoners in the facility actually _escaped_ amid the forced evacuation? Those incarcerated in the Raft were among the world’s deadliest criminals, their escape would undoubtedly bring all sorts of mayhem to the world, and that was something that Steve wouldn’t chance, not even for the sake of his friends.  

At any rate, those were basically the problems that Steve had to solve if he were to successfully infiltrate the Raft. Besides, he would also need a vehicle to transport his allies to a safe-house once he had gotten them out of the facility. And yes, he would also need to find a safe-house; but he already had one in mind – Clint’s farm, whose coordinates he still remembered. For the transportation, he figured he could use the same quinjet he had flown to Siberia. Maybe have it hidden somewhere on land. If all else failed and he couldn’t solve the aforementioned problems by the end of the week, Steve also had a ‘last-resort’ plan formulated. Well, that plan was rather, _ahem_ , ‘unrefined’ and perhaps a tad bit old-school. It would involve Steve stealing a boat and driving it out towards the area within 1 kilometer of the Raft; Steve would then have to camp out on the boat and wait until an authorized vehicle tries to enter the Raft. Then Steve would quickly swim over and sneak in while the vehicle is making its entrance. A bit inefficient and contingent, but it would work; since it’s pretty much just a matter of time because surely, there had to be vehicles entering or leaving the facility at some point, right? Though even the ‘last-resort’ plan could be better executed if Steve could just get his hands on the Raft’s damn schedules. In essence, information was what Steve really needed. Nobody could make bricks without clay the same way no tactician could formulate a good battle plan without sufficient data.

The little gate leading into Central Wakanda finally came into sight; a sign of salvation from his growing hunger. Whatever it was that stumped his rescue plans so far, he would find a way. He always did. He had to. But the thinking would have to wait until he had stuffed his stomach with plates of exotic Wakandan cuisine. Wait any longer and he might actually begin hallucinating, or worse, pass out due to hunger.

The hunger of a supersoldier whose metabolism ran at least 4 times faster than the fittest and healthiest of all adult human beings?

Only a fool would trifle with that.

 

* * *

 

**Steve Rogers’ Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa **

The instant Steve came through the bedroom door, he did something that every hungry person would do: food hunting. He remembered having a pack of energy bar stashed somewhere in his battle suit’s utility belt. Objectively, he knew that the meagre energy bar wouldn’t make much of a difference. But at least something was better than nothing, right?

Well, apparently, the notion of ‘something’ had gotten a whole lot more prolific when Steve’s sight landed on the nightstand in the bedroom. A huge comb of bananas sat atop said nightstand. Strange. He hadn’t notice the fruit when he left his room earlier that afternoon. Perhaps his tummy tantrums at the clifftop really was heard by some God-sent Wakandan Samaritan who then snuck in a fine comb of bananas for him, Steve thought amusingly.

Anyway, his inquiries were answered when he strode over to the nightstand. Underneath the fruit was a golden envelope with Wakanda’s insignia printed on its bottom right corner. Steve’s first impression was that it was an invitation of some kind. Steve slowly opened the envelope to reveal its content: a piece of high quality paper with glittered edges which contained a very brief message.  

And an invitation it was. A _royal_ one, in fact.  

 CAPTAIN ROGERS, JOIN ME AT THE ROYAL PALACE FOR DINNER TONIGHT. 8 PM

T’CHALLA

So the bananas must've been brought here along together with the invitation, Steve inferred as he munched heartily at the fruit. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he noted the time as 6.30 PM. Another one and a half hour to go. Plenty of time for him to shower, change, continue working on his rescue plan and perhaps finish up that comb of bananas that looked too delicious to be left uneaten. But first, Steve had to decide whether he would actually accept the invitation. Not that he was overreacting or anything, but this situation warranted extreme caution. This wasn’t some random get-together with his barbershop quartet, it was a friggin’ invite to a dining session with the King of Wakanda himself. Come to think of, did he even own anything remotely appropriate to wear to such upscale meetings? Showing up in his full Captain America battle suit would be plain ridiculous after all. Well, he supposed he could wear the same 3-piece suit that he had worn to Peggy’s funeral – luckily for Steve, said article of clothing was currently stashed neatly in his duffel bag somewhere. _That’s one problem solved._ And what about things like Royal etiquette? The last thing Steve wanted was to commit some sort of faux pas which would potentially lead to him making a _royal_ (pun intended) fool out of himself. Though he supposed he could always stick to his 1940s chivalry… after all, nothing could possibly go wrong with good ol’ manners right? _Problem number 2 solved._ Putting aside the reasons not to attend, Steve’s mind shifted to the reasons he _should_ make the invitation instead.

One, declining a royal dinner invitation would probably be an act of extreme discourtesy to T’Challa who had been nothing but kind and helpful to him. Two, some company would certainly do Steve some good – the last time he was alone, he ended up nearly losing his mind over a certain redheaded lady. Three, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to see the interiors of Wakanda’s Royal Palace, once in a lifetime opportunity and all. Four and most importantly, it would be a wonderful opportunity to further strengthen his rapport with Wakanda, after all, Steve and T’Challa did get off the wrong foot when they first met.

After much pondering on Steve’s part, his initial fears and doubts slowly subsided and he was finally convinced that the decision was indeed a no-brainer. Et Voila! It was then decided that America’s Champion would make an appearance in the abode of Wakanda’s Chieftain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. There you go. 
> 
> I tried my best. I hope you guys like this chapter. It's long I know. But I hope it's worth your time reading. Writing this chapter is hard, I'm not used to writing about emotions and feelings. It's super super hard. But I really tried. 
> 
> Did I make anyone cry? I'm sorry to have to say this, but, it'd make me very happy if this chapter made somebody cry. It'd be proof that I might not be that hopeless in writing after all. Ooh, before I forget. Did anyone notice that what happened in this chapter corresponds to the events in Chapter 6: Aide? Nat's computer showed that Steve was taking a stroll in Wakanda. 
> 
> Details, folks. Details. The Broken Shield is about piecing all the little details together. Speaking of details, when I mentioned _the elegant smooching sound produced as her lips left the surface of his cheeks..._ I wasn't actually kidding or exaggerating. If you watch back CATWS, you could actually hear that sound when Nat kissed Steve on the cheek. 
> 
> Until next time.
> 
> Isaiah.


	10. A New Friend

_“How about a friend?” – Steve Rogers to Natasha Romanoff, Captain America: The Winter Soldier._

 

* * *

 

** Royal Palace of Wakanda, Central Wakanda, Africa. **

For a nation that was (allegedly) concealed from the outside world for centuries, Wakanda sure knew a thing or two about extending hospitalities to outsiders. Having a legion of commissionaires stationed at the royal palace’s main entrance to greet visitors, for instance, was _definitely_ one of those things.

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised. The moment Steve passed the royal gates, he saw royal servants flanking each side of the palace’s ginormous front patio. Steve had counted 10 heads (five men and five women) on each flank. In each flank, men and women stood alternatingly.

Guess what happened when Steve began traversing the patio?

The commissionaires _bowed_ to him. Bowed. As in, hip-bent-at-right-angles-face-parallel-to-ground bowed. The display was, quite frankly speaking, unnecessary; unless one possessed Loki’s delusions of grandeur, which Steve clearly didn’t.

Seriously, what’s next? Kneeling?

Well, if you’re worried, don’t. Because the Wakandans actually knew better than to indulge in Loki’s whims.

They didn’t kneel.

Just bowed.

To say that Steve felt welcomed would be a severe understatement. He felt like a goddamn VIP or something. Interesting. He supposed that the royal servants did not know (and most certainly did _not_ need to know) that they were bowing to the same guy who had, just a day ago, delivered a powerful kick that sent their current King flying off a couple of feet at some German airport.

By the time Steve had traversed enough of the patio to finally stand in front of the commissionaires, he found himself in a deep predicament. What was he supposed to do to get these people to _un_ -bow? Maybe he should divulge his little game of Kick-The-King after all. And do they even speak English? Dang. That copy of _Wakandan Etiquette_ he’d purchased at the airport when he first arrived in Wakanda was so _not_ helpful on that front. Granted, it’s probably not an everyday occurrence in Wakanda where one gets invited to the freakin’ royal palace, so Steve supposed that there was probably no need for them to include royal etiquettes in that little _Wakandan Etiquette_ booklet. Come to think of, why on earth would they even need a booklet on etiquettes anyway? It wasn’t like there was much tourism going on around in Wakanda in like, _ever_.

Maybe he should just quickly walk past the commissionaires. That way, they would probably straighten their backs once they knew he was gone. That definitely sounded like a good plan. Well, it’d certainly make sense, wouldn’t it? Surely they wouldn’t be enthusiastic enough to remain bowed all the while he was inside the palace dining with the King? If they _did_ , then, well, either they have the strongest backs in human history, or…

Nah. They wouldn’t. It wouldn’t make any logical sense.  

Looking ahead, Steve noted that there was still quite a long stretch of land between where he stood in front of the commissionaires and the palace building’s main entrance. Without further ado, Steve followed his plan and strode decidedly past the still-bowed commissionaires towards the main entrance, turning his head over his shoulders once every few steps to check if the servants had straighten their backs yet. But damn, these Wakandans sure were persistent. Not only did they remained bowed, they had actually turned their bodies to face him even after he had walked past them. For the following few minutes, Steve contemplated hard on his next move. He felt bad, really. Having a bunch of people bowing to him was completely unnecessary.

Seriously, this whole display was beginning to make him feel like an asshole instead of making him feel welcomed. Way to go, Wakanda.

Well, he could always just walk back towards the servants and straighten them up himself. Not that he was familiar with the local lingo, but surely they could understand a few simple body language gestures, right? _Or_ , he could just continue walking straight into the building, and hope that the servants would finally be the wiser?

Salvation came by the time Steve reached the palace’s porch, when an elderly woman emerged from the royal palace’s entranceway. Judging from the difference in her attire and the slight air of authority she exuded, Steve surmised that she was a royal butler of some kind; basically someone in charge of all the royal servants. The woman strode towards Steve with a smile so wide that it’d made him temporarily forget about the commissionaires’ potential lower back troubles.

Steve returned the smile and waited at the porch.

Okay! Time to put everything he knew about Wakandan culture into practice.

“Good Evening, Captain Rogers.” The woman greeted the moment she stopped in front of Steve.

“Good Evening, Ma’am.” Steve returned the greeting. Now, he was supposed to wait until the woman initiate a handshake first, which she did. Steve took her extended hand with his right hand and grabbed her wrist with his left hand – a respectful gesture that was used to greet elderly people in Wakandan culture.

“Ah, Captain. I see you know a little bit about our culture?” The woman said lightly, clearly impressed with Steve’s demonstration of knowledge.

Well, then. That copy of _Wakandan Etiquette_ had its uses after all, so it seemed.   

“Well, I try. Ma’am. And please, do me a favor and ask these ladies and gentlemen to rise up from their bowing positions. That seemed to be quite an uncomfortable posture to be in, and I feel really, _really_ bad for them.” Steve said, gesturing to the commissionaires behind him.

The elderly woman chuckled and barked out a few orders in their native language.

The commissionaires rose to a standing position, and all was right again with the Universe. Finally.

“Well-mannered, kind-hearted and considerate. Now I can see how you have earned the right to a one on one dining session with His Highness. Truly, it is an honor to have you here with us here tonight, Captain.”

“It’s an honor to be here, Ma’am” Steve answered modestly.

“Now. His Highness awaits you. So, shall we?” The elderly woman gestured towards the entranceway.

Steve tensed up at that. “Please lead the way. I’m not late, am I?”

“Relax, Captain. You are 10 minutes early.” The woman smiled before turning towards the entranceway.

Steve followed, but not before turning back towards the commissionaires and giving them a nod of appreciation for their ceremonious (though unnecessary) welcoming.

He would’ve cracked a joke about each and everyone of them needing a back rub or something. If only he knew enough Xhosa to form a sentence worth a damn.

Too bad.

 

* * *

 

Once within the palace building, the elderly woman led Steve through a series of stairs and hallways, slowing down occasionally to introduce Steve to different sections of the palace. Despite her obvious _seniority_ , Steve noticed that the woman walked _pretty_ darn fast. Heck, she even managed to hold a steady conversation with him as they brisk-walked up a steep flight of stairs. Seriously, for someone so… _advance_ in years, the woman sure possessed phenomenal amounts of stamina and energy.

Steve couldn’t contain his smile at his previous thoughts. It amused Steve a little, seeing how _he_ was now the one conjuring up age-related comments about his ‘peers’ (by strict technicality, Steve’s peers would be the elderly. Just sayin’). I mean, it was usually _him_ being at the receiving end of any jibes featuring geriatric statuses. And now, oh, how the tables had turned. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what Natasha would say if she was beside him right now. Hell, who was he even kidding? He didn’t even need to wonder. He could totally envision the words coming straight out of Natasha’s mouth if he were to make some kind of surprised remark about the elderly woman currently walking beside him. For instance, if he were to suddenly say, _‘Hey, Nat. How could this elderly woman be so energetic? Think she’s taking drugs?”_

In which case, he’d better be ready to have his ass totally and utterly sassed, because he could be damn sure that Little Miss Sassy’s reply would probably go something like this:

_“Can’t say I’m surprised, Rogers. You know what they say about fossils, they’re an energy source."_

And then she’d probably throw him that sexy smirk of hers; the smirk that he’d gladly kiss right off her mouth if she’d let him. Good God.

He was so totally, madly, and ardently in love with Natasha Romanoff.

 

*     *     *

 

They passed by a few servants, and once again, Steve found himself to be in the same conundrum as before – trying to get these zealous servants to un-bow. If the elderly woman was amused by Steve’s over-display of chivalry, she didn’t show it.

Finally, they stopped when they reached one particular passageway at the East Wing of the palace. The elderly woman procured a tablet device of some kind and began tapping on its screen, giving Steve the opportunity to study the passageway. It was wide, and tall, with only one door at the end. Said door was fairly large, and seemed to be constructed using dark mahogany wood. The entire passageway was, surprisingly, spartan. There were no portraits, or artworks, or decorative ornaments adorning its walls. The only 'decorative' items were the two surveillance cameras hanging above the mahogany door.

“I have just alerted His Highness of your arrival. You can get to the royal dining chamber through that door at the end.”

Steve turned his attention back to his temporary chaperone.

“Understood. Thank you for the tour, Ma’am. I appreciate it.”  

“You’re welcome. Do have a pleasant evening, Captain. And once again, it’s an honor.” The woman said, giving Steve a slight (thank God!) bow.   

The woman left.

 

* * *

 

What lay on the other side of the mahogany door wasn’t actually the dining chamber. Instead, it was a large waiting area. A metal sliding door occupied the other end of the waiting area, directly opposite where Steve stood. Five female guards were stationed in front of said metal door; two on each side of the door, one stood directly in front of it thereby blocking the doorway completely with her body.

All 5 women were battle-armed with vibranium spears on their right hands. There were vibranium sheath swords attached to their backs too. As for their attire, they all wore chest plates which covered only their breasts and backs; well, vibranium sports bras, essentially.

Steve’s mind flashed back to all the times he’d seen Natasha wearing those black sports bra of hers, usually during those times when they shared a gym back at the compound. You see, those goddamn sports bras were the reasons why he sometimes got whacked in the face by a swinging 900-pound punching bag which he had somehow ‘forgotten’ to steady. Pfft, served him right for openly ogling at the sweat-glistened body of a certain redhead; a body _clearly_ made for all kinds of sin. In his defense, those things looked _skimpy_ on Natasha, okay? Not that he was deliberately looking or anything. Nope, totally wasn’t deliberate. He didn’t have a choice. It was a forced act, a coercion. Yeah, _clearly,_ he had been dragooned into ogling, by Natasha’s sports attire (or lack thereof). Gentleman or not, he was still a man, and a man could only defend himself _so much_ from sexy redheads wearing skimpy sports bras. And oh, not to mention all the times when he had to abort his workout halfway and leave the gym before he ruined his reputation completely. The reason for that? Well, let’s just say, that a supersoldier’s hard-on isn’t one to be trifled with. Thank heavens for the elastic workout pants he always wore to the gym, else he honestly couldn’t be sure which would rip first: the front of his pants, or his skin. Neither would lead to any favorable outcomes, in case you’re wondering.

Ahem, safe to say that those workout sessions, didn’t quite, well, _work out_.    

 _Anyway_ , back to the guards, who were now eyeing him with slightly menacing looks. Steve also noticed that the guards wore vibranium chausses, which covered their legs until mid-thigh. Overall, the guards gave off a somewhat intimidating vibe…sort of? Okay, well, maybe they _could_ be intimidating for a normal person, one who has yet to face down an army of aliens flying out of a freaking hole in the sky. But considering all the weird things he had seen ever since he took the serum, this little marking-of-territory display by the guards didn’t even come close to getting under his skin.

Unfazed, Steve advanced towards the other end of the waiting room, towards the metal doors. He did all that without batting an eye. He hadn’t been wrong in assuming that the guard who stood blocking the doorway at the center was the leader of the pack, because as soon as he neared the door, the center guard had taken a step forward, seemingly to size him up. Deep down, Steve found their display of ‘machismo’ amusing. However, Steve schooled his expressions nonetheless, careful in not letting his amusement show on his face. They were his hosts after all, the least he could do was to show some respect to the nation who had graciously offered shelter and protection for Bucky.

_Nice try, soldiers. Your size-ups might work on most, but this soldier had seen more stuff than you probably ever will in your entire lifetime._

Despite being thoroughly sized-up, Steve decided to play the respect-the-soldiers card, “Good Evening, fellow warriors. The name’s Steve Rogers. I’m here upon the invitation of your King, His Highness T’Challa.” Steve took out the golden envelope containing the T’Challa’s dinner invitation from his blazer pocket and handed it to the guard.

The guard took the envelope without opening it and placed it in her waist pouch. “We know who you are, Captain. It’s an honor to finally meet the Living Legend himself. But unfortunately, protocols must be followed. We cannot make any exceptions, not even for you.” said the guard who had been sizing him up moments ago.

The guard had even thrown in a little smile at the end of her sentence. Huh.

How. About. That.

Well, at least she didn’t pull a punch on him. Maybe these badass women had finally taken a liking to him. He supposed he could credit that to his Omni-functional 1940s chivalry. It so appeared that not even these tough as nails female warriors were immune to good ol’ fashioned chivalry.

“Protocols. Right. You do what’s necessary, Ma’am. I’ll gladly oblige.”

“We need you to empty your pockets, Captain. And also to remove your shoes and your suit jacket.” The guard ordered sternly.

Steve complied immediately and did what he was told without uttering another word. At least he wasn’t asked to remove the vest he'd worn under his jacket. He removed his black blazer first and took out a second envelope from the inner pocket of the blazer. He then passed both items to the guard before working on removing his dress shoes.

“What’s in this?” asked the guard as she held up the second envelope which Steve had procured seconds ago.  

“A gift for the King. You are welcomed to check its contents, Ma’am.” Steve answered briskly. He now stood barefoot (he still had his socks, of course) in front of 5 domineering women, awaiting the next bullet point on Wakanda’s dining-with-the-King protocol. Jeez, talk about emasculation.  

The guard opened the envelope to reveal the sketch of the Panther’s statue he had done that afternoon at the cliff top.

Apparently, Steve was forced to make final touch-ups on his ‘flawed’ sketch after all when he had failed to come up with any reasonable ideas to present to his host as a gift. Besides, he hadn’t the mood to return to the flea market to browse for gifts, and the sketch happened to be the only thing gift-worthy lying around in the suite. Pfft, like as if he was gonna show up empty-handed to an invitation; his Ma taught him better than that.  

Satisfied with her examinations, the guard returned the gift to Steve. With a curt nod of her head, 2 of the other guards stepped forward from each side of the door and procured weapons scanners from their backs.

“Now we need to you widen your stance, and lift your arms slightly.” The center guard ordered, her tone, however, was not as stern as before; probably coming to the realization that this whole charade was pointless after all, and that Captain America’s presence that night meant no harm to their new King. About damn time she got the memo.  

Obediently, Steve did as he was told and the scanning commenced, which lasted for about 10 seconds.

“Alright, Captain. You’re cleared for entrance. His Highness awaits you behind this door.” said the guard who stood at the center as soon as the scanning stopped.

Steve retrieved his suit jacket from the guard after he put his dress shoes back on.

The guard stepped away from the doorway before pressing a combination of buttons on her electronic gauntlet. The metal doors slid open a second later.

 

* * *

 

Steve found himself walking into a huge dining chamber. The chamber was perfectly cylindrical with a large and expensive looking chandelier hanging from the center of the circular ceiling. Directly under the chandelier was a freakishly long dining table.

 _That’s gotta be a 40-seater at least._ Definitely not meant for a one on one dining session. For a split second, Steve panicked and thought that perhaps the night would be joined by all Wakandan high ministers or something, but had quickly dismissed that idea when he remembered the elderly women at the main entrance, who told him that the agenda for the night was indeed a private dinner with T’Challa.

“Captain Rogers.”

Steve turned to his 2 o’clock and saw T’Challa descending a winding staircase.

Steve strode towards to the bottom of the staircase to meet his host.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Steve greeted. Steve took T’Challa’s extended right hand with his own right hand, and at the same time grasped T’Challa’s right wrist with his left – a gesture of respect he had picked up.

T’Challa returned the gesture, much to Steve’s surprise. 

After the handshake, Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his gift, “Your Highness, here’s a little token of appreciation for the invite, and also for your kind hospitality.”    

T’Challa took the gift gratefully, “Thank you, Captain. The pleasure is mine.”

“Shall we?” T’Challa gestured towards the staircase. Steve nodded and followed his host up the fancy staircase onto the second floor.

 

*     *     * 

 

The second floor was obviously meant for private dining. Instead of concrete cylindrical walls, it was enclosed by cylindrical floor-to-ceiling glass windows which made the entire floor a perfect vantage point into the breathtaking night-view of Central Wakanda. Despite the whole floor being a circular disk, the actual dining booth however, only occupied a 60-degree sector of the circular floor, a particular feature which struck Steve as extraordinary and bizarre, but he had made no comments about it for propriety’s sake. Steve ambled towards the dining booth before stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows within the booth.

Steve stared at the night view.

It was beautiful. The twinkling blips of city lights, little dots which lit up the darkness, like stars on land. 

“Great view out here.” Steve said.

“Glad you enjoy the view, Captain. Because it’s about to get better.” T’Challa replied.

Slightly confused by T’Challa’s statement, Steve turned around just in time to see T’Challa pull out a control panel from the center of the circular room. Steve watched curiously as T’Challa pressed a combination of buttons on the control panel. The event which followed made everything click in Steve’s mind. Because the entire second floor started rotating about the cylindrical chamber’s central axis.  

With an expression of awe, Steve remarked, “This whole floor is a rotating disk, that’s why the dining booth only occupied a sector of the circle, well, it wouldn’t matter since it’s spinning around anyway. And I suppose that also explains the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and the cylindrical design of the building…” Steve paused and gave the chamber a quick once over, “This was meant to be a rotating restaurant. Very impressive.”

“Wait for it, Captain. The best part has yet to come…” T’Challa said as he began walking away from the control panel towards the dining booth, where Steve stood.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, “There’s more?”

Seconds later, a loud click was heard. The sound originated from the space above the ceiling. And immediately after, Steve noticed the gradual dimming of the ceiling lights. Eventually, as the lights slowly dimmed into oblivion, the dining chamber descended into a state of darkness. The meagre city lights from Central Wakanda became the only source of light in the dark room. Steve senses went into high alert instantly. Thanks to the serum, he had no problems seeing even under severe light-deficient circumstances. Slightly restless, he glanced quickly around him, eagerly ‘observing’ his surroundings. Okay, fine, whatever, he was paranoid, okay? His ‘observations’ were, in actuality, some form of threat assessment, just in case. Avenger or not, he was still a soldier at heart, and a soldier never let his guard down. That night, however, he was in luck, for he had spotted no suspicious or hostile presence in the chamber – just him and his host. There were no traces of guns, knives, or spears either. The room was near silent with the only audible sound being the steady and rhythmic breathing of his host.

The clicking from above the ceiling ensued after a long moment of deafening silence. The dining booth soon became pitch-black dark and Stygian as the booth rotated away from the Wakandan city lights to face the rainforests.

Seriously getting a little creepy.

“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. But given the past few days that I’ve had? Pardon me when I say that I’m not a big fan of dark confined rooms with clicking ceilings.” Steve stated warily, his senses still on overdrive.

T’Challa chuckled, “Patience… Captain. And relax, Wakanda is Fort Knox. I highly doubt that your enemies could even cross the outer borders of Wakanda.”    

A deep humming sound soon followed. Guess where the sound came from? Yep, it came from above the ceiling, again. Some ceiling that was. It was obvious that there was something going on above them, and the constant humming sound had Steve thinking along the lines of old machineries operating beyond the ceiling. Unable to contain his bubbling curiosity, Steve tilted his head skywards and squinted through the darkness, determined to discern anything unusual transpiring above them.

And then Steve saw it.

The circular ceiling was slowly retracting radially outwards towards its circumference!

Beyond the ceiling, however, was something infinitely more captivating. It was a hemispherical, transparent glass dome pointed directly at the clear Wakandan night sky. So in essence, the whole dining chamber was a cylinder with a transparent hemisphere attached at one end. Wow.

Seriously, the modern world never ceased to amaze him. Those damn helicarriers had costed him ten bucks already.

 _Guess I owe Fury another ten._ Steve thought wryly.    

“Behold, the finest stargazing spot in Wakanda.” T’Challa announced proudly.

And damn right it was.

The Wakandan night sky was clear, with glittering specks of whites and blues spread across it. As if somebody had thrown a handful of powdery diamond dust across the night sky. Millions of miles away, the stars winked down upon its observers, like gleaming beacons of hope for the troubled and the despair.

“Son of a gun…” Steve shook his head in amazement, finding himself unable to tear his gaze away from the lure of billions of blinking stars. He was, at that moment, _star_ -struck, _literally_.

“This is all very nice, Your Highness. You know, I came out of the ice believing that nothing in this world could ever surprise me again. Time and again, I was proven wrong. Seems like you’ve just added another item onto that list.” Steve said in awe, his head remained tilted skyward.  

“My father… He had this built a very long time ago, as you have undoubtedly noticed from the old and slow-performing machinery. When I was younger, our family used to come up here and dine every weekend. And then we would stargaze after dinner until I fall asleep. I have fond memories of this place…” T’Challa said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

The sudden change in ambience of the room was what ultimately made Steve tear his gaze away from the glass dome. Steve watched as T’Challa strolled towards the floor-to-ceiling windows with a heavily guarded expression.   

“I’m very sorry about your father, Your Highness.” Steve consoled, though he knew that the scanty condolence wouldn’t make much of a difference. Steve felt like he should say more, but had opted to give T’Challa some space instead.

The young King of Wakanda stared quietly out of the windows into the bustling night life of Central Wakanda, seemingly lost in thought, perhaps reliving the memories of his late father.

It really wasn’t all that hard for Steve to empathize with T’Challa. Steve understood the pain of losing loved ones very well, _too well_ to his liking. By the age of 18, Steve had lost both of his parents. His father, Joseph Rogers, was killed in action during the First World War. Throughout his adolescent years, Steve had to watch his mother struggle through her ordeal to keep the both of them alive. So much suffering his mother had endured before, she, too, succumbed to tuberculosis on his 18 th birthday.

His mother…

If there was one person whom Steve had thought created the man he was today, it would be his mother, Sarah Rogers. The woman who never once gave up on him. The beautiful woman who had taught him about perseverance. The woman who had taught him that the greatest strength that one could ever possess was the _strength within one’s heart._

A pear shaped tear slipped down Steve’s left cheek as he remembered his mother’s last words to him on her deathbed,

_“A strong heart will take you further than any physical strength. A strong heart means you'll never quit...”_

Steve’s reminiscence ended abruptly when he heard T’Challa taking a deep, ragged breath. T’Challa’s back was turned towards Steve, still staring out into the night through the windows. Following T’Challa’s line of sight, Steve noticed the pitch darkness through the curved windows of the booth. At that observation, Steve surmised that the booth still overlooked the vast Wakandan rainforest. Sensing the emotional distress of his host, Steve decided to do something to diffuse the palpable sadness saturating the space.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” Steve took one step closer towards his host. There were still quite a few steps separating the two men.

When T’Challa remained silent and still, Steve continued, “I know how you feel, Your Highness. I lost a lot of people too, and the losses were painful, especially when loved ones were involved. I’ve never met my father… so I don’t really feel anything about his death. He died fighting the First World War before I was even born, mustard gas attack. But my mother……” Steve paused, took a deep breath and cleared his throat before continuing.

“My mother and Bucky, they were the only two loved ones I had back when I was still that sickly nobody from Brooklyn. They were _everything_ that I had back then. They meant _everything_ to me. And…I had experienced losing them both before, so I can totally understand what you must be going through right now. My mother died on my 18 th birthday, tuberculosis. And… well, you know the story about Bucky, it was because I failed him…” Steve shook his head and cleared his throat a second time, “But on both accounts, I survived. It was painful, especially at the start, but I lived. So, I know that you _will_ survive the loss of your father too. And trust me, I get it, I know you’d want to grieve on your own, all alone by yourself. But see, the thing is, _you don’t have to_. You have friends, family, and a whole bunch of people who care a very great deal about you.” Steve chuckled drily, “I tried to grieve alone too, when my mother died. Bucky was the one who made me realize that I really didn’t have to.”

Another pause from Steve.

That second pause made T’Challa turn from the window to face Steve. Seeing that he had finally gotten T’Challa’s full attention, Steve stepped forward and stopped beside T’Challa. Steve’s right hand settled on T’Challa’s left shoulder in a firm and powerful grip.

“From the moment you offered to shelter and look after Bucky, you have found yourself a friend in me. So, you’re not alone, Your Highness. Whatever you need, just say the word and I’ll be there.” Steve stated firmly.

T’Challa nodded, “Thank you, Captain. You’ve been very kind.”

Steve smiled widely.

“You’re welcome. Now, we don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it. You have every right to grieve for your father however you want it, Your Highness. And if you wish to be alone tonight, I’d respect that.” Steve paused, his eyes gleaming with humor despite the darkness surrounding the room, “Plus, you were _remarkably_ generous in your afternoon fruit delivery. I’ve still got half of that massive comb of bananas left unfinished back at the suite. Do you guys do fruit bonanzas here? Oh, listen to this, Wakanda banana bonanza… it’s got quite a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Maybe you guys could make a festival of it.” Steve’s attempt at humor drew a deep chuckle from his host.

“Don’t worry, Captain. I’m good. I appreciate your concerns though. And what kind of a host would I be if I send my honored guest back on an empty stomach? So rest assured, you will help yourself to the crème de la crème of Wakandan Cuisine tonight.”

As if on cue, Steve’s stomach rumbled.

“And…… _that_ , would be my stomach showing it’s appreciation for your wise decision, Your Highness.” Steve said, removing his grip from T’Challa’s shoulder.

T’Challa laughed heartily at Steve’s joke. And Steve, for one, was glad that the melancholy in the room was diffused. After the ‘Civil War’ fiasco, Steve was pretty sure that everybody needed a break from all the angst.

The laughter died down after a minute, and the mood turned serious once again.

“My father… he was a great man, a champion of peace. But the world had done him great injustice. And I, for one, would not stand by and let injustice continue to rule this world. I vow to fight in the name of peace and justice. It is the only way to honor his legacy, and not let his death be in vain.” T’Challa said with fiery determination.

And then Steve said something which proved himself worthy as a friend of the King of Wakanda, “ _You are_ his legacy, Your Highness. He raised you to be a fearless warrior, and, not to mention one hell of a great ruler too. By my book, his death was _never_ in vain, because he made who you are today. You are his greatest legacy, Your Highness. And I’m sure that wherever he is, he would be very proud. To truly preserve his legacy, all you need to do is to keep being the great person you are today, keep being the person he'd made you to be. That’s how I think you should honor your father, Your Highness.”

T’Challa was momentarily stunned into silence as he pondered Steve’s words, and then he smiled in recognition, suddenly remembering what Captain America’s greatest strength was:

The ability to inspire people, even people who are Kings, apparently.

Captain America, the inspirer of inspirers.

“You know, among all the hundreds of potential candidates for Erskine’s Project Rebirth… I’m glad that they chose you, Captain. The world, aside from being extremely lucky to have you, is also too dumb to even realize its own luck.” T’Challa remarked.

It was Steve who laughed this time.

“You’re overpraising me, Your Highness. If you don’t already know, I was just some kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight he knew he couldn’t win. Believe me, _that,_ was the reason Erskine chose me. It never was that complicated. In fact I kinda think that I was just at the right place and the right time. Most would call it dumb luck.” Steve answered modestly.

T’Challa scoffed at Steve’s modesty, but nodded nonetheless, figuring that the modesty probably came together with Captain America’s ‘goodness package’.

“Well, then, I think we can all agree that Erskine was an extremely wise man.” T’Challa commented.

Steve smiled at the comment.

“Thing is, every morning I wake up, I make it my personal mission to prove exactly that, to prove that Erskine made the right choice in me, and to keep the promise that I had made to him back in 1945…” Steve said wistfully.

T’Challa nodded in understanding, “And it’s safe to say that you’ve done a great job in that endeavor thus far. Come, my friend. Have a seat and I will have dinner served in no time. Oh and do us both a favor, drop the honorifics, Steve. I would like to have a normal conversation between two friends for once.”  T’Challa said while gesturing for Steve to take a seat, which the latter gladly obliged.

 

* * *

 

“I hope you managed to get up here without any hassle.” T’Challa stated once they were both seated in the booth.  

“Oh no, it’s no hassle at all…” Steve chuckled, “But you really outdid yourself with the commissionaires, by the way. It’s been a long while since I felt like a celebrity. Thought my celebrity days were long behind me after my USO tours.” Steve said, shuddering at the thought of his horrendous days as a dancing monkey.

T’Challa chuckled and said, “I’ve actually seen those footages when I was younger, knocking Hitler off his feet and all that. I remember there was the one where you lifted a motorcycle with 3 show girls standing on it. That one was actually pretty funny. And no offense, Steve, the costume you wore back then? It was ridiculous.”

Steve groaned, covering his face with his palm, “ _Definitely_ weren’t my finest moments.”

“The commissionaires were actually the royal servants. And just so you know, they had actually _volunteered_ themselves to be the commissionaires for tonight. Believe it or not, _everybody_ in Wakanda wants to meet in person the hero who had saved the world 70 years ago.” T’Challa said as he tapped away on his phone, presumably giving the kitchen staff the cue to start serving dinner.

“Didn’t know that my ‘influences’ crossed Wakanda’s sacred borders.” Steve said wittily.

T’Challa lifted his gaze from the phone and smirked.

“Believe me when I say this, Steve. The people of Wakanda know _everything_ about the outside world. It is the outside world, however, who knew very little about us.” T’Challa answered confidently, which earned him a smile from the supersoldier.  

“Touché. Any chance that that’s gonna change in… say… this lifetime?” Steve teased.

“It actually might. Well, depending on the world’s current interests, obviously. I mean, you wouldn’t want a giant vibranium rock the size of a football field to fall into the wrong hands, would you? Who knows? If we manage to accomplish things like…” T’Challa shrugged, trying to think of an example before continuing, “…wiping HYDRA off the face of the earth for instance? Only then I’ll actually consider revolutionizing Wakanda’s foreign policies to be more… _liberal_.”

Steve tensed immediately at the mention of HYDRA, “Wipe out HYDRA huh? That’s not gonna be easy…” Steve chuckled bitterly “…sometimes I wondered if that’s even possible. Back in 1945, when I was crashing the jet…… I thought I had finished the job, with the Red Skull gone and all… But I woke up 70 years later only to discover that I’m still fighting the same battle.” Steve took a deep breath before continuing, “The sole reason I was created was to take down HYDRA. Guess I wasn’t enough.”

“For what it’s worth, Captain, the fight against HYDRA isn’t over. The world still needs you. So, you might want to save any judgements about your adequacy until the fight is actually over.” T’Challa said encouragingly.

Steve smiled wryly, “Guess I lived to fight another day, huh? _Literally_ ”

T’Challa, wanting to keep the mood light, opted for a change of subject.

“Anyway, when I mentioned ‘hassle’ earlier, Captain, I was actually referring to something more along the lines of my personal bodyguards. Ever since my father’s passing, they have been increasingly protective. I certainly hope that they hadn’t offended you in any way tonight. ” T’Challa said, giving Steve a pointed look.

“The women in the waiting room, you mean?” Steve asked.

“Yes. The Dora Milaje. A group consisted of the most elite female warriors in the nation. For generations, they have acted as the King’s personal bodyguards.” T’Challa confirmed.

“Don’t worry about it. I completely understand the duties of a soldier. I was once a soldier too, you know. I can see that they are very dedicated. And for that reason, rest assured that they have my highest regards.” Steve dismissed T’Challa’s concerns.

“Good.” T’Challa paused before he slowly shifted his gaze towards Steve, “Interestingly though, before we met your team at the airport, Miss Romanoff had a confrontation with the leader of the Dora Milaje.” T’Challa’s tone was… _odd_. Inscrutable. There was a slight timbre in his voice, which, subtle as it was, remained discernible by Steve’s superior auditory senses. There was also _something_ in the way T’Challa spoke whose nature Steve couldn’t quite decipher. Was it some kind of test? What was it? Steve couldn’t tell from the content of the statement, because the statement, per se, was vague, and Steve was starting to feel that the vagueness was by design.  

Feeling suspicious, Steve stared across the table at his host. And for a brief moment, Steve noticed something in T’Challa’s facial expression as well. It was as though T’Challa was studying, no, _scrutinizing_ him, watching how he would react to what was formerly said. All the more reason for Steve to suspect the fact that T’Challa had brought up the subject of Natasha on purpose. Steve’s mind immediately thought of the worst.

 _Strange. Did something happened between Natasha and the guards that I should be concerned about?_  

“What happened? I thought Natasha was on your side before this.” Steve asked warily, trying to get to the bottom of this unusual turn in their conversation. He was careful and had made an effort to keep his voice composed and apathetic.  

“She stood in front of my car, trying to recruit me to join Stark. Well, like I said, the Dora Milaje members were increasingly protective after what happened to my father… so…” T’Challa threw yet another vague response but this time he added a nonchalant shrug. Yep, definitely by design. T’Challa’s gaze was laser focused on Steve, apparently he was still studying Steve, and gauging Steve’s every reaction to his own words.

“So there was a fight?” Steve cut to the chase. Not that he was particularly worried or anything. He knew that Natasha could hold her own in a lot of dangerous combat situations… but still… he was just…curious? That’s right, curious, piqued, but not worried.

_But she seemed fine to me when I saw her at the airport. Maybe she won the fight?_

Nope. Definitely wasn’t worried. Just… looking out for a teammate. _She would have done the same for me._

T’Challa said, “No. No fight. I was there. I ordered my guard to stand down.”

Steve’s shoulder sagged slightly in relief.

“But a fight, if it occurred, would be extremely entertaining wouldn’t you say?” T’Challa leaned back in his seat.

Okay, now _that_ definitely got Steve intrigued. Well, of course, Steve wasn’t one of those guys who would view a fight as ‘entertaining’ (no offense, T’Challa), but still, this was Natasha they were talking about… and whenever it comes to her, Steve _needed_ to know. Again, not being overly concerned or anything, this was just curiosity.   

“So… who’s your money on?” Steve asked just as a female royal servant walked into their booth carrying a round tray containing two rock glasses and a bottle of what Steve assumed to be whiskey. Steve thanked the woman when a whiskey-filled glass was placed in front of him. Steve quickly recognized the woman as being one of the commissionaires who had greeted him at the palace’s main entrance.  

“Let me introduce you to Wakanda’s finest brand of whiskey. And to answer your question, I would say that it depends on the circumstances of the fight.” T’Challa said before he took a sip from his glass.

“Well, then. By all means, do enlighten me.” Steve said before taking a sip of his own drink.

“If it was purely a hand-to-hand fight without any special armors involved, I’d give Miss Romanoff the edge.” T’Challa said, setting his glass back onto the table.  

Steve nodded in agreement, “Natasha is an _extremely_ lethal hand-to-hand combatant. She could go toe to toe with a physically enhanced Bucky _and_ hold her own using just her skills alone. But I can totally see where you are going with this. The Dora Milaje, they wear vibranium armors don’t they? And I suspect that their spears and swords are all vibranium as well.”

“That is correct. They were trained to incorporate vibranium’s material advantages into their fighting styles. Hence, when fully armored, these warriors are deadly. On a good day, the best of these warriors could even fight me to a standstill. But all in all, I think that with her abilities, Miss Romanoff would survive a fight with a fully armored member of the Dora Milaje. But to overpower them when fully armored… that’s quite difficult, even for someone as skilled as Miss Romanoff.” T’Challa stated his opinion.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing that I came here today as an ally. Would hate to add a few more broken bones onto my ‘to-heal’ list.” Steve said jokingly, causing T’Challa’s face to crinkle up in amusement.

Jokes aside, Steve was still unable to decipher T’Challa’s unusual demeanor when the subject of Natasha was brought up in their conversation. Even queerer was the way in which Natasha was suddenly brought into the conversation, literally out of nowhere. Well, okay, Steve had suspected from the start that T’Challa had brought up Natasha on purpose, but for what reason? Still puzzled by the peculiarity of his host’s actions, Steve leaned forward in his seat and pondered his next move.

 _It’s not a breach of Royal Etiquette if I just simply ask a question right? I need to be careful here, Bucky is still under Wakanda’s protection… If I say the wrong things and upset His Highness somehow…_  

You know what? To _hell_ with it.

Steve wanted answers. If something had happened to Natasha, he had the right to know dammit. Damn straight, as the Former Leader of the Avengers, he had every right to access any information that concerned the well-being of one of his former comrades, in a purely platonic and I’m-just-looking-out-for-my-work-partner sense, of course.

Time to kick his 1940s chivalry up a notch. _So here goes…_

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s rather… _strange_ , that you would suddenly bring up Romanoff in our conversation earlier. This ‘confrontation’ between Romanoff and your body guard…Is there…” Steve tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “…something about it that I should know?”

That successfully earned him a deep and throaty chuckle from T’Challa.

Steve, looking slightly affronted, was just about to mouth off this 50-page speech about the welfare and safety of every member of the Avengers being his responsibility as the team’s _former_ leader, but then T’Challa waved a hand across the table and dismissed Steve’s concerns, “Relax, Steve. Nothing happened to Miss Romanoff, really. I give you my word, warrior to warrior. But as for the reason I brought that up? Let’s just say, that I needed a little confirmation about something, and leave it at that, shall we?” T’Challa threw yet another vague response at Steve.

Steve narrowed his eyes and eyed suspiciously at T’Challa’s amused expression, “Confirmation? About what?”

But right at that exact moment, a royal servant _just so happened_ to walk into the booth carrying a large tray containing the appetizer for the night: two plates of shrimps and two small bowls containing some kind of brownish-colored sauce.

“Let me introduce you to tonight’s appetizer. Roasted shrimp with peanut sauce. One of Wakanda’s finest.” T’Challa announced as a way to officially kick start the agenda of the night. And obviously, as a not-so-subtle way of avoiding Steve’s previous question.

 

* * *

 

“The food is to your liking, I hope?” T’Challa stated as Steve reached for a napkin.

They had just completed the final course of the night, which happened to be one of Wakanda’s popular dessert dishes, Maandazi – T’Challa had explained to Steve that it was a special type of doughnut prepared by adding coconut milk into the dough.

“Oh, it sure was. Most definitely. Granted, it was very… _different,_ compared to what I usually eat back in my day, but delicious nonetheless.” Steve answered with an appreciative nod, placing the napkin back onto his lap.

And Steve wasn’t lying. Within one short hour, Steve had tasted what he would consider to be the tastiest food he had ever eaten in his whole life. After the appetizer, they were presented with 7 more exquisite Wakandan dishes, including dessert. All dishes had been prepared by the top chefs in Central Wakanda. Some light dinner conversations were made, of course. Well, mostly it was Steve having a crash course in Wakanda’s history and culture. All in all, Steve had a great evening; hardly a surprise given the amazing food, the exquisite night view, the good company and all that.

“Good to know, then. Because food preferences are highly subjective.” T’Challa remarked as a staff came in to clear away the dessert plates.

“Well, I’m sure that my stomach would once again love to show its appreciation for all the Wakandan delights you have showered it with, only… it’s probably too stuffed to do anything at the moment. Think it needs a little break.” said Steve with a glint of humor in his eyes.

“Break? I’d hate to disappoint your stomach, Captain. But dinner isn’t quite over yet.” T’Challa quipped back, waving to the only remaining item left on the dining table. The bottle of Whiskey sat atop the table, half-empty.

Steve grinned, “I’m sure it wouldn’t mind a couple more glasses of fantastic Whiskey.” Steve took the Whiskey bottle and filled up both of their glasses.

“I noticed that you’d placed quite an emphasis on the word, ‘different’, when you commented on the food just now. Why’s that?” T’Challa asked as Steve set the Whiskey bottle back down onto the table.

“Oh, that. I meant modern food in general, I guess. A lot has changed since my day. And one of the biggest changes I had noticed was the food. The food now’s a hell lot better than what we used to have back in my day…” Steve clarified.

T’Challa reached for his glass, “Oh? How _was_ the food different back in your day?”

“Everything was just…simpler. We used to boil everything.” Steve snorted, “Wasn’t like we had much of a choice back in those days anyway. Sometimes, we couldn’t even afford basic cooking commodities, like cooking oil, pepper, salt… _sugar._ The Great Depression took a lot of things away from the people, and the luxury of enjoying good food was definitely one of ‘em.” Steve rolled his eyes, “People nowadays are complaining and nitpicking about the types of seasoning to be used on food, but back in my day? People would see _‘small’_ things such as having fresh meat or fresh vegetables for a meal for instance, as a revel-worthy occasion. Can you imagine that?” Steve took a sip of his Whiskey.

T’Challa nodded in understanding.

They both sat in comfortable silence before T’Challa asked another question.

“What was it like? Life during the Great Depression. If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all. Well, in a nutshell, life was tough. Some families were able to get by, but some weren’t so lucky. My family… we were kinda… well, I guess you can say we were on the borderline class between the lucky and the unlucky.” Steve said as he sat his glass back down onto the table.

Piqued, T’Challa questioned, “How so?”

Steve’s eyes turned misty at the question. Steve loosened his tie with one hand and leaned back in his seat. If he was gonna share his life experiences, he might as well relax and make himself comfortable. It surprised him though, that he was willing to share these personal things about himself with T’Challa, given the fact that they had barely known each other for a few days. But, then again, Steve had viewed it as an opportunity to improve his rapport with Wakanda. And besides, Steve kinda felt like he owed T’Challa a big favor, for providing shelter and protection for Bucky…and hopefully for Natasha as well if she ever needed shelter.

With a sigh, Steve spoke, “Where do I even begin…” He then lifted his gaze towards the glass dome, staring into the stars as he sieved through his memories.

After a few moments of silence, Steve began narrating his life experiences.

“Well, my mother and I, we were the not-so-lucky ones at first. We barely got by even with my mother working overtime every single day. We were struggling to pay for everything, especially my mounting medical bills… But my Ma never gave up, not even once. Despite the extreme poverty surrounding our lives, she still managed to put food on the table every day. Sometimes I wondered how she did it…” Steve exhaled, “Anyway. That was the not-so-lucky part. But things became better for us after we met Bucky’s family. They helped us out, a lot. And, well, that was the lucky part.” Steve explained.

T’Challa nodded in understanding, “Your mother sounded like a great woman. Strong.”

Steve smiled wanly, “Indeed she was. Apart from Erskine, my Ma was the one who made me the person I am today. But I guess that’s kinda a given, since there weren’t many people around my life to influence me back then anyway. We had a lot of happy memories together, me and my Ma. The only regretful memory I had with her was that of me being such a huge burden to her. Sometimes, I’d even blame myself for indirectly causing her death…” Steve took a staggering breath.

At that, T’Challa’s face contorted in confusion, clearly alarmed by Steve’s words.

Seeing his host’s confusion, Steve clarified, “Because I was always sick, so to pay for my medical bills… she had to work overtime. And she… worked at a hospital, as a nurse. That was how she contracted tuberculosis.”

“Sorry.” T’Challa consoled.

Steve shook his head in dismissal, “Don’t be. You know, there was this one time…” For a moment, Steve debated inwardly if he should really share this personal information with T’Challa. It was an extremely personal story. Over the years, he had only told the story to the people closest to him and the people whom he trusted with absolute conviction. Well, actually one of his life’s regrets was that he didn’t manage to share with Peggy that story, but then again, he had been busy fighting a war during his time with Peggy. Not exactly the best of times to share childhood stories when the world could literally end any moment.  

In the end, Steve decided to be forthcoming with T’Challa; for the exact same reasons that had him attending the dinner invitation in the first place. Besides, it wasn’t like he kept that personal bit about himself as a dark secret or anything like that. It was just _personal_ , that’s all. In fact, he had willingly disclosed that story to Natasha before. It was during that same night where he snuck into Natasha’s room to leave the two sketches he had done for her. Natasha had come to his room afterwards. He had told her the story that night when they traded stories with each other. She was the second person Steve had told the story to. Bucky was the first.

T’Challa was about to become the third.

Steve cleared his throat.   

“One time, I got real low. Guess I just felt sick of being sick, and tired of being a burden. So I went up to my Ma and… I told her to abandon me. To leave me behind and to go live her life without me. Also told her that it breaks me to see her suffer because of me. Even worse, I threatened her that if she wouldn’t abandon me then I’d do it for her, by taking my own life… I was only eleven at the time.” Steve took another sip from his glass to recover himself, “But you know what she said back to me?”   

T’Challa remained still in his seat, nursing his Whiskey, deeply absorbed in Steve’s recollections.

Steve took T’Challa’s silence as the cue to continue speaking, “She told me… that I was the sole reason she was happy in her life, and that I was her sole reason to continue living after my father’s death. See, she said she was _happy_ , despite the hellhole that we were living in back then and despite all the hardships that she had to suffer because of me… she said that she was _happy._ Only because I was there.”

Steve inhaled deeply, and lowered his gaze from the stars back down onto the table, “At first, I didn’t believe her, of course. I asked her how she could be happy with all the hardships and sufferings all around her. And you know what else she told me? She said it was because she understood the _meaning_ of happiness. Then I asked what happiness meant to her, then she said, happiness meant living and spending every moment of one’s life with the person one truly loves.” Steve exhaled slowly and reached for his glass, “But then, I was still skeptical. Didn’t really believe her because I was too young to fully understand what she meant back then. So instead of using words, she showed me. She went over to a drawer and pulled out a little notebook, showed me its contents…” Steve paused to take a sip of Whiskey.

“What was in it?” T’Challa asked.

“It was a scrapbook, a personal diary of some kind. In it, there were entries, records, basically stuff that she had written down ever since I was born. These personal journal entries… when she read them to me, they were all about how happy she was… and there were also a couple of photos. The photos were taken during the time when we could still afford to get our photographs printed out. I was just a few months old in these photos, and in them, my Ma was holding me in her arms, smiling like she was the happiest person in the world. After I finished going through the diary, she went on and told me that she’d rather suffer a happy life with me in it than live an unhappy but easy life without me in it…” Steve smiled fondly at the memory.

T’Challa nodded in admiration, “You really had a wonderful mother, Steve. She was a beautiful person.”

Steve’s smile widened into a grin, “I know. Well, after she told me those things, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world. It didn’t matter that we couldn’t afford nice food, good clothes or fancy toys, nothing else mattered to me other than the every moment I could spend with my mother. That was the first life lesson my mother had taught me, _the meaning of happiness._ From then onwards, I never brought up the subject of taking my own life again. Instead, I fought harder to live. I learnt to appreciate life, because she made me understood that _every life_ is significant as long as there is a _meaning_ to it ya’ know? It was also after then that I never backed away from any fight with bullies.” Steve chuckled at the end of his sentence.

T’Challa clapped his hands together before he reached for the Whiskey bottle, emptying its contents into both of their glasses.

T’Challa raised his glass for a toast, “Well, Captain. To Sarah Rogers. A loving mother, a strong woman, and one of the greatest human beings I’ve ever heard of.”

Steve returned the toast and raised his own glass, “Thank you.”

For a few moments, they both sipped at their drinks in silence.

Steve broke the silence, “So, I see that you’ve been to the Smithsonian then? I never really told you my mother’s name.”

T’Challa smirk, “See, Captain. What did I mention just now before dinner? That we Wakandans know a lot about the world. We have our ways of knowing that doesn’t require us crossing beyond our borders.”

Steve chuckled, “Touché.” Realizing that there was only one final sip of alcohol left in his glass, Steve decided to propose a toast of his own.

Steve raised his glass, “To a new friendship.”

T’Challa smiled as his mind registered the meaning behind Steve’s toast.

CLINK

“To our friendship.” said the King of Wakanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like T'Challa's character as portrayed in CACW. I think he's an honorable, and principled man, who values justice above all else. By the end of the movie, I would like to think that Steve and T'Challa had gained mutual respect in each other. So that was what I tried to explore in this chapter. I tried to work out the beginning of Steve and T'Challa's friendship. Hopefully everything here is believable and logical. At this point, I must say that T'Challa and Steve's friendship will play quite an important role in the later parts of the story. I've tried to sneakily sneak in Romanogers here and there in this chapter, if you have noticed, despite the fact that this chapter doesn't feature much Romanogers. Like I said, this story is mainly a Romanogers love story. By the end of this chapter, you saw that T'Challa and Steve truly became friends, and this is what I had interpreted from the movies. 
> 
> Besides T'Challa and Steve's friendship, I also explored a bit more about Steve's past. Most of those things were my own inventions, but in my head, they were compatible to Steve's own life (I hope). 
> 
> Lastly, I would like to once again point out the interconnections between details between chapters in The Broken Shield (in case you missed it) Everything is connected. Nat's recollection in Chapter 5 (about Steve's suicide story) is exactly the same one Steve told T'Challa in this chapter. In case you haven't gotten used to reading my style, please do pay attention to all those little stories and details in each chapter. They will pop out somewhere in the future chapters. I think it'll be fun for the readers to catch all the connections I tried to make. 
> 
> Notice how I toned down the angst a little bit. I wanted to keep this chapter light and funny. Hopefully I made someone laugh, or at least smile. Let me know if you've laughed or smiled. Even better, let me know which part you think is funny. The feedback will be appreciated. 
> 
> Err. That's all. I'm actually running low on sleep. So until next time. 
> 
> And oh, if you like this work, please hit the subscribe button. Because there will be a lot more chapters to come. 
> 
> Isaiah.


	11. Assessment

_“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” – Abraham Lincoln._

 

* * *

 

** Steve Rogers’ Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa **

The suit blazer was the first to go.

Flung unceremoniously from the doorway across the entire span of the deluxe bedroom.

It landed on the luxurious king-sized bed. One sleeve dangled off the edge of the bed. Limp. Flaccid. Like the stem of a withered rose. Like a cooked spaghetti.

Colonies of creases bloomed all over the garment. For a moment, they resembled the frown lines that might appear on the foreheads of disgruntled faces. As if the garment was somehow frowning at the owner, expressing its distaste at the owner’s ill-treatment.   

The dress shoes were next, kicked off and abandoned in front of the door jamb, with one shoe lying on side and overlaying its twin.

Mess. Disorder. Chaos. Untidiness. And disarray. It was truly unwonted to associate Steve Rogers with any such words.

He didn’t care.

At that moment, apathy prevailed.

His guilt-induced indifference triumph over his neat-freak propensities.   

Socks soon joined the shoes at the door jamb.

And thereupon, his feet were bare against the lush Saxony carpet.  

Still clad in his vest, tie, dress shirt and dress pants, Steve padded slowly towards the bed, weary and enervated.

A quick glance at the nightstand clock revealed the time.

10:17PM.

Dinner officially ended 15 minutes ago, when Steve called it a night. After the final toast, Steve had politely excused himself from the dining chamber, claiming physical exhaustion and the desire for some personal downtime. He made no stops on the way back to the suite.

Dinner had been fantastic. And for nearly two hours, he had been showered with blatant hospitality by his kind host. But pleasant as T’Challa’s company was, Steve genuinely wasn’t game for post-dinner small talks.

Excuses were made, obviously. Said that he was tired. Or that he hadn’t want to impose on T’Challa’s own time. He’d even told himself that T’Challa might need some private time to grieve for the late King T’Chaka.

But those were just what they were.

Excuses.

And the truth was that Steve just _couldn’t_.

He couldn’t stay.

He couldn’t bring himself to luxuriate further in his host’s generous hospitality.  

He couldn’t stay and indulge his host’s pleasant company.

He couldn’t possibly stay for another tumbler of whiskey or for another round of dessert.

He couldn’t do all that.

He just fucking couldn’t.

His guilty conscience wouldn’t allow it.

God. How could he?

How could he wine and dine in a freaking royal palace when every single one of his friends were probably being tortured right this second for information regarding his own whereabouts.

His _friends._ His _family_. Those who clearly had his back when he needed them. And God, what the fuck was he doing when it was now the other way around, when _they_ needed him?

And how could he laugh, chat and _stargaze_ when the love of his life was running for her life because of what she’d done in order to save his own sorry ass.

How the fuck could he?

He had no right.  

No right at all.

 

* * *

 

He sat on the edge of the bed with his face buried in his palms.

Somehow, his thoughts went to his dear Ma.

The emotions from his previous conversation with T’Challa were still raw.

He could still feel everything, replay every memory.

The pure love his Ma had shown him throughout his entire childhood and adolescent years.

The soul-stirring moments when his Ma showed him her journal, the journal that saved his life.

The gratefulness and relief he’d felt when his Ma refused to abandon him even though the abandonment was his own request.

The pain of having to grieve for his Ma on his fucking _birthday_.

The emptiness and hopelessness he’d felt after her death.

The harrowing realization that he had nobody left. No one left. No family left at the age of 18.

And then finally the rekindling of hope when Bucky rescued him from the jaws of forlornness, of loneliness; the day Bucky made him realize that he still had family after all; the day Bucky made him realize that he had a brother all along.    

Such bittersweet memories.

 

*     *     *

 

He’d told T’Challa about Sarah Rogers; snippets of his past that he’d only disclosed to two other people in the world, people whom he truly loved.

He’d left the memories of his dear Ma to T’Challa.

He’d left the safety of his best friend to T’Challa.

It was a sign of all the trust he’d bestowed upon the new King of Wakanda.

A sign of respect and reverence.

It was, like their final toast at the dining chamber, a sigil of a new friendship.

He could only hope that T’Challa could see everything he’d done.

 

* * *

 

Over the years, Steve prided himself for the robust control he’d possessed over his own emotions. For years, he hadn’t allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable, partly because it was necessary for the job, and partly because he was always buried in a situation so confounding and perplexing that his feelings were just…numbed. Discovering that he had been hibernating for nearly 7 decades, for instance. And then waking up from said hibernation into the ‘future’ he knew absolutely nothing about, leading a battle against a hostile extraterrestrial army right after waking up, finding out about Bucky. You see, in the face of all these strange circumstances, Steve always found himself being _unable_ to feel. Dazed. Stupefied. _Numbed_.

This numbing sensation served him well all these while though, it became the tough shell that allowed him to stare unflinchingly at all the weird shit the world had hitherto thrown at him, to face down enemies _far beyond_ the imagination of a scrawny kid from 1940s-Brooklyn. And heck, even to exert a position of authority over a group of super beings with issues. That numbness kept him focused, on the mission, and on keeping the promise he’d made to Erskine decades ago – being a good man.

At present, however, that shell had cracked, if his breakdown at the cliff top that afternoon was any indication. That afternoon, on some Wakandan clifftop, Steve Rogers lost his shit for the first time ever since he took the serum.

And losing his shit wasn’t a nice feeling.

It made him feel like he was that kid from Brooklyn again. That scrawny, powerless kid who hated bullies yet couldn’t do jack squat to stop them. That little kid plagued with feelings of inadequacy in the face of ‘normal’ and ‘healthy’ kids. But at least, that little guy from Brooklyn was still happy, despite all his shortcomings. Because his mother was there, like a flaming torch guiding him through every nook of the labyrinth that was the Great Depression.

His beautiful, strong, and kind mother. Sarah Rogers.

Contrary to popular belief, the person who gave Steve Rogers his strength wasn’t Abraham Erskine. Here’s the thing, Abraham Erskine only made Steve Rogers _stronger._ But Sarah Rogers made Steve Rogers _strong._ Sarah Rogers first taught him strength. Not physical strength, but inner strength, the strength of the heart.

Yes. That little guy from Brooklyn was strong, even before science hauled him to the pinnacle of humankind’s evolutionary ladder.  

But here’s the irony of it all. A sick, twisted irony.

Right now, nearly seven decades after 1940s Brooklyn, the little guy had grown to be one of the strongest human alive. But despite all that log-ripping, chopper-stopping, superhuman strength that he knew he possessed, Steve didn’t feel strong at all.

He felt not a single iota of strength.

He felt weak and dejected.

He could ask why.

But he knew damn well why.

It was because the people he loved weren’t there.

Bucky went on ice.

His mother was gone.

Peggy had passed.

And Natasha...

Natasha, his partner and friend, the woman he loved.

She wasn’t there too.

Not one of them were there.

He was alone.

 

* * *

 

The scent of peanut sauce became too conspicuous to ignore. After a while, Steve realized that the scent came from his hands. Raising his head from his palms, Steve glanced at the clock.

10:33PM.

He sighed

He must’ve sat there for quite some time now.

Rubbing his hands once again across his face, he noted the slight stickiness in his palms.

Right.

The peanut sauce.

He stood up from the bed and headed to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

Steve lifted his face away from the sink, and with his right hand, he removed the sink plug. Droplets of water slid down the planes of his sculpted face, falling onto his vest, creating dark spots on the fabric. Grabbing a towel, he wiped his face and perused his own reflection on the mirror. His face was once again smooth and perfect. Gone were the cuts and scrapes which covered his right cheek just hours ago.

That brutal fight with Tony in Siberia instantly came to mind.

It wasn’t really about the fight, per se, or the physical pain, even. It was the mental torment and anguish that bothered Steve the most. Steve was a loyal man, and to a loyal man, no form of torture could be greater than that which forced him to choose between the people he cared about, or worst, to do them harm. Twice was Steve subjected to this kind of mental torture in the short time span of 2 days. The first was when he nearly had to fight Natasha back at the hangar (thanks heavens he was relieved of that). And the second time was in Siberia, when he was forced to fight Tony in order to save Bucky’s life.

As stupid as it sounded, Steve actually held back his strength for most of the fight, well, except during the final moments of the battle when Steve realized that he really had no other choice. For the most part of the fight, Steve had only done what he could to slow Tony down until Bucky could get away. But Tony, on the other hand, fought ferociously throughout the entire battle, with every blow fully intending to kill, despite their years of friendship. That realization pained Steve, because he knew right then, after Tony’s attempt at a killing punch aimed at his head, that he had lost yet another friend. In the end, Steve supposed that he couldn’t blame Tony, who had just only learnt about the demise of Maria and Howard at the hands of Bucky, a fact, which Steve had kept hidden from Tony for quite some time.

Steve only had himself to blame.

This was all his fault.  

Tossing the wet towel onto a wooden shelf, a bitter chuckle escaped Steve’s lips. As much as Steve hated it, he couldn’t help but realize that Zemo had probably won. Zemo had made pawns of every single one of them. Zemo had played them and had gotten them right where he wanted them to be. The only question was whether there was more to Zemo’s plans. Was tearing down the Avengers Zemo’s only objective? Or was the Civil War just the onset of something worse?

With a sigh, Steve did a quick damage assessment of his team.

_Natasha, on the run. Everyone going after her. Not sure if she can be safe with the whole world after her, not just her enemies, but also the government and the alleged ‘good guys’. I doubt I can find her when she doesn’t want to be found. I miss her…God…I miss her so much… I hope she’s okay…_

_Barton. Locked up. His family at home, waiting for his return. Goddamnit…_ Steve’s grip on the edge of the porcelain basin tightened at the thought of Laura and the kids back at the farm. This was all on him. All because he had mishandled the entire situation and played right into Zemo’s game.

_Sam. Locked up. Shouldn’t have dragged him into this. Now there’s even a risk of bad people gaining access to the EXO-7._

_Wanda… Locked up. She must be scared shitless. Dammit, she’s just a kid, she doesn’t deserve this. No teenager deserves this. Worst, I fear what they’d do to her to prevent her from using her powers, seeing that she is the most powerful one among the group. I hope they don’t torture her or harm her… Christ._

_Lang. Locked up. Heard he’s got a daughter at home. And his suit… it’s a dangerous weapon if it falls into the wrong hands…_

_Rhodes… near crippled according what T’Challa had told me on our flight from Siberia to Wakanda._

_Vision. Physically fine. Emotions, unknown._

_Tony… physically fine also. But must have taken a big hit emotionally, finding out about the death of his parents this way. Plus, with Pepper not being by his side… this is bad…_

In other words, the team was in total shambles. He had failed his team as their Captain, again.

 

* * *

 

Steve had no clue how long he had been staring at the basin. The water had long since drained out.

Steve only snapped out of it when his Ma’s words came back to him. Just when he needed them the most.

 _“Listen close, Steven… You ALWAYS stand up.”_  Those same words had fueled Steve for years, had driven him to live beyond his physical shortcomings, had motivated him to enlist for the army and fight for his country. And now, they had strengthened Steve’s resolve to stand up, and to make things right again.

 _“You won’t be alone.”_ Peggy had once told him, when he was about to take the HYDRA jet for a time-travelling plunge into the ice. Guess she was right after all. His Ma and Bucky were always with him in spirit.

_Thanks Ma. Time for me to fix this._

Steve left the bathroom and headed towards the telephone on the nightstand beside the bed. Through the PBX system, he rang the front reception of the building.

“Good evening, Captain. How can I be of service?” said the receptionist who picked up after the third ring.

“Good evening. Ma’am, I was wondering if there’s somewhere in the building where I can get a pen and a stack of paper, and perhaps also a couple of envelopes, those use for standard deliveries I mean.” said Steve.

“Yes, definitely. We do provide them here upon request.”

“I see.” Steve hesitated for a while, “Um… I know this might sound like a bit of a strange request, but I’d like you to ensure that the paper and envelope are _standard_.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. But I don’t quite follow.”

“I need the envelopes and papers to not contain any form of insignia associated with Wakanda. And they should also not be products which are specific to Wakanda. In other words, the recipient should not be able to trace the source of the delivery back to Wakanda.”

“That does sound a bit strange, Captain.”

“I believe it’s for Wakanda’s own safety and protection, Ma’am.”

“Will some standard Double A brand A4 paper fit your requirements?”

“That’ll do, Ma’am.”

“Alright. I’d have someone send them up to you shortly. Is there anything else that I can assist you with, Captain?”

“No. That would be all, Ma’am. Thank you.”

Steve hung up.

 

* * *

 

**10:42PM Wakandan Time**

** Royal Dining Chamber, Wakandan Palace, Central Wakanda, Africa. **

One thousand six hundred and fifty two.

 _That_ , was the total number of great warriors that Wakanda had produced over its epic history. They were by no means average soldiers running around shooting guns. Far from it. These were fearless and skilled warriors who were taught to wield weapons before they even knew how to read and write. These were Kings and Commanders who had led legions into victorious battles. These were men and women who were literally the physical incarnations of the Panther spirit among mankind.

One thousand six hundred and fifty two of Wakanda’s unique versions of Miyamoto Musashis, and T’Challa knew _every_ single one of them – their skills, their personalities, their mentalities, their guiding principles, their hobbies, their achievements, their lineages, heck, even right down to their choices of beverages. Yet, _none of them_ were anything like Steve Rogers, as T’Challa had concluded after his 2-hour dinner session with the supersoldier.

The rotation of the dining chamber had stopped. All was dark, except for the dimly lit dining booth where T’Challa was still seated in. When Steve left around 40 minutes ago, T’Challa had dismissed all the kitchen staff, claiming that he would take care of the post dining maintenance of the chamber all by himself. Much to the dismal of the Head Chef, of course, though the King’s orders were firm and precise, that all staff were to be dismissed immediately, and the King was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the night. In truth, T’Challa merely desired some solitude to mull over the interesting character that was America’s Golden Boy.

Admittedly, there was a hidden agenda behind T’Challa’s dinner invitation tonight. It was, of course, T’Challa’s attempt to learn more about Steve, some form of character assessment, if you will. Like everyone else in the world, T’Challa was well versed with the tales about The Living Legend, about how the supersoldier had rallied the Allied troops in a victorious battle against Red Skull and the Axis powers, and about the various stunts and heroics he had performed throughout the Second World War such as the act of single-handedly defeating an entire HYDRA blockade which ended up saving the lives of over a thousand men. Yes, Captain America was, indeed, badassery personified, that much T’Challa knew already (after all, the media had made it pretty much impossible _not_ to know). Though, those weren’t the kinds of information that T’Challa was looking to ferret out through his dinner invitation. Instead, it was the man behind the shield that T’Challa was keen in learning more about. T’Challa wanted to learn more about the real Steve Rogers.

Well, as it turned out, T’Challa’s task was made easy by Steve himself, who, for the entire evening had been nothing but forthcoming. Needless to say, the touching story about his mother which Steve had willingly shared took T’Challa by genuine surprise. T’Challa could tell that the story was very personal, and there was no doubt that it was a story that very few people had had the privilege to hear.

In the end, T’Challa found the evening to be rather… _oxymoronic._ Because the evening was, well, insightfully perplexing. That’s right, insightful, yet perplexing at the same time; perplexing, yet in an insightful way. True indeed, T’Challa had learnt a great deal about Steve in 2 short hours; that was the insightful part, obviously. But at the same time, T’Challa was also utterly baffled that such a guy like Steve even existed in the universe. Well, perhaps in the 1940s there might still be a glimmer of hope, but in the modern world where evil thrived? Statistically unlikely.

T’Challa leaned back against his seat in the dining booth, aimlessly toying with his left sleeve. His mind, however, remained ferociously at work, pondering endlessly about what made the Star Spangled man so special.

The image of a warrior which T’Challa was so accustomed to (if the 1652 certified badasses from the history of Wakanda had any say in the matter) could be identified via four traits: courage, skills, leadership, and honor. And from such a preliminary analysis, T’Challa could already identify the substance which made Steve so exceptionally noteworthy: it was because Steve had something _aside_ from the four afore-listed traits, it was a fifth trait that Steve possessed which made him so darn special.

The all-encompassing and unwavering morality which shone from within Steve like a glaring beacon.

 _That_ , was the fifth item.

In other words, Steve’s entire existence oozed morality, from the way he spoke to the way he carried himself. Heck, this supreme morality of Steve’s had even manifested itself in Steve’s unique combat style. Steve had adopted a combat style, which, T’Challa suspected, was made deliberately non-lethal. T’Challa had seen the footage showing Barnes’ attempted escape on the helipad, where Steve did the near impossible by pulling a chopper back to earth using only the strength of his left bicep. As a scientist, T’Challa was able to perform a rough estimate of the amount of force which Steve’s biceps had to generate in order for him to pull off that stunt. What T’Challa discovered was astounding. His calculations had shown that Steve’s biceps must have a load lifting capacity of _at least_ 3000 pounds to be able to pull back the helicopter. That alone, was roughly 10 times stronger than the strongest of normal humans. Therefore, it was entirely possible for Steve to kill a man with a single punch had he really intended to. Though, surprisingly, reality had shown otherwise. Time and again, most of Steve’s adversaries managed to walk away with merely shattered bones or crippled limbs, but still very much alive. Which led T’Challa to the inevitable conclusion that Steve must’ve been holding back his true strength during combat situations. It became evident to T’Challa that Steve must have gone through great lengths to refrain himself from killing, even when he was up against the worst of his enemies. _That_ , per se, was enough proof of the depths of Steve’s morality.

As an expert martial artist, however, T’Challa could approach the problem from an entirely different angle, and yet arriving at the exact same conclusion as before. By the time he was only 15, T’Challa had known almost every form of martial arts there was to know, including the deadly ones, which could _kill_ even when performed by someone whose strength levels lie _way_ below peak human strength levels. Needless to say, with his superhuman strength, Steve could, in theory, increase the lethality of his attacks by _hundred folds_ had he chosen to adopt such martial arts into his combat arsenal. Yet, not once had T’Challa observed in Steve’s unique combat style any traces of these lethal forms of martial arts. Absolutely nada. Instead, Steve’s fighting styles consisted mostly of boxing, parkour, and gymnastics. Being himself highly trained in the latter two, T’Challa had a pretty solid idea of what they entailed: excellent body and muscle control. Immediately, it became evident to T’Challa how Steve did it, how Steve had the ability to restrain his strength to such non-lethal amounts during a fight so as to refrain from killing his opponents. T’Challa had no doubt that it was made possible through Steve’s intensive training in parkour and gymnastics, which ultimately granted Steve the perfect control over his body, and by extension, the perfect control over his strength! That was how Steve had always managed to avoid using his full strength during a fight. Clearly, this showed that Steve had made a conscious choice to be a protector instead of a killer; which was, again, quintessence of his morality.

Just days ago, T’Challa himself had nearly been consumed by the urge to kill; by revenge, by vengeance –he had wanted to take Barnes’ life for allegedly causing the death of his father. So he knew how difficult it was to resist the lure to cross that line and submit himself to the urge to kill. And _yet_ , Steve managed to do it so effortlessly all the time.

Once again, the profound depths of Steve’s morality baffled T’Challa, completely.

Which led T’Challa to another equally perplexing question: What _was_ the source of Steve’s morality? As far as T’Challa could tell, it definitely wasn’t because of Steve’s childhood circumstances, well, not directly, at least. There were millions of other kids born during the Great Depression, living the same life as Steve did, yet none of them could hold a candle to Steve when it came to morality. In fact, through his anthropological studies, T’Challa knew that when subjected to hardships and sufferings, civilizations were more likely to undergo a moral descent rather than an enlightenment. Survival of the fittest. That was the principle which every human innately abide by. In the face of sufferings and hardships, morality would be tossed aside to ensure survival. Yes, people _would_ kill for shelter, for food, for clothing, and on the more extreme end? Resorting to _cannibalism_ , where people would actually kill each other and consume the flesh of the dead in order to survive. So how, then, could a guy such as Steve Rogers seemingly pop out from a society blighted by absolute poverty and hardship? A society, which, anthropologically speaking, was destined to go down a path of utter moral descent? The first thought that had crossed T’Challa’s mind had something to do with the positive influence of Steve’s mother (yet another person with _outstanding_ morals) on Steve’s childhood. Indeed, a parent had a potent psychological influence on a child, a well-established fact. But was that all? Could there be other answers?

Another plausible answer to the question, T’Challa surmised, had to do with the physical weaknesses which Steve was born with. Steve’s prior physical weakness must have given him the capacity to truly understand compassion, and to sympathize with the weak, simply because he himself was (or used to be) one of them. Besides, the lack of physical strength had likely made Steve turn towards another form of strength, namely, the inner strength, or the strength of the heart, so to speak.

What was the true answer, then? That question had been playing in T’Challa’s mind like a broken record for the past 15 minutes. In the end, T’Challa conceded that he had no clue as to what the real answer was. It was a complete enigma to T’Challa what had been the source of Steve’s outstanding morality. Would the answer have neuroscientific components? Did the secret of Steve’s morality lie in specific neural pathways in his brain? Was it a born trait? Or was it an acquired trait?

So many questions. Yet T’Challa could offer no answers. 

Being at the zenith of morality was one thing, possessing a downright indomitable will to act upon said morality, however, was another thing altogether. Steve’s unstoppable tendency to live by the highest of moral standards was, in T’Challa’s opinion, the other thing which made Steve so special. T’Challa remembered the time when he had first heard about Captain America. To T’Challa, it was an unforgettable memory for a 9-year old. That morning, young T’Challa was seated at the breakfast table, awaiting his father’s arrival. When T’Chaka arrived at the table, however, the first words that he said to T’Challa was, _“T’Challa, do you know what day today is?”_

Naturally, young T’Challa’s curiosity was piqued.

_“No Baba, what day is today, Baba?” Young T’Challa had asked his father._

_“It’s the 4 th of July, T’Challa. A very special day…” was what T’Chaka had told young T’Challa that morning. _

Afterwards, T’Challa was told by his father about what made the 4th of July so special, about the birth and the life of the world’s first superhero, about the defeat of the Nazis during the Second World War and about America’s Independence Day. It was the first time ever that T’Challa was told about things which lay beyond the walls of Wakanda, so, naturally, he was intrigued. Much more stories were told to him by his father that morning, but the one story which had stuck with him even until now was the story about how Steve had relentlessly enlisted for the US army despite the obvious physical frailties he was born with. T’Challa (both young and adult) was simply amazed by Steve’s willingness to lay down his life in order to protect, serve, and to fight for what was morally right. Instead of using his physical limitations as an excuse to run away (something which lesser mortals would probably do), Steve had proven himself worthy of a hero by enlisting. And that wasn’t all, Steve had enlisted over and over again for _four times_ despite being repeatedly denied his chance to serve. Four times. Four. That was how willing Steve had been to do what was right. _Damn_ , what a guy.

Eventually, in his deep musings, T’Challa’s mind treaded towards another interesting subject, a scientific problem, in fact. One that had baffled the best minds on Earth for several decades now.

The Supersoldier Serum.

It was no big secret that the only successful SSS formula was lost with Erskine’s death. Ever since then, numerous attempts had been made to rediscover the formula, only, most of the attempts appeared to bring more harm than good. During his early 20s, T’Challa himself had made diligent studies into these attempts, but merely as a scientific interest, since Wakanda had no intention whatsoever in creating an army of supersoldiers.

The most notable failed attempt was the one made by Doctor Bruce Banner, who thought that Gamma radiation was the key ingredient to the perfect serum. Well, that attempt, needless to say, did not end well. At all.

And then there was another serum which was administered to a British Special Ops commando, Emil Blonsky. As a result of the serum, Blonsky ended up with super-rapid healing with the accompaniment of severe physical and mental distortions. The subject’s state was rendered infinitely worse after being exposed to Bruce’s Banner’s blood, which ultimately transformed Blonsky into a grotesque Hulk-like monster named The Abomination. Obviously another failed attempt.

Next, there was the more recent attempt, called the Extremis virus. The formula was part of an attempt to revolutionize gene therapy. It was designed to allow the human body to regenerate damaged tissues to the extent that severed limbs could be regrown in an _instant_. The resulting formula, however, gave its test subjects capabilities beyond what it was designed for. Test subjects of the Extremis formula were shown to exhibit superhuman physical strength, superhuman reflexes and even the ability to generate high amount of heat within their bodies. Most test subjects, however, experienced major side effects due to the instability and volatility of the formula. Among the recipients of the Extremis formula, there was only 1 known survivor, namely, Miss Virginia Potts of Stark Industries. The rest of the test subjects ended up being blown apart from within their insides. Yes, like a human bomb.  

The attempts which T’Challa would consider to be the closest to a success, however, were the Winter Soldier Variants of the SSS, first created by Arnim Zola, and later recreated by Howard Stark. And among all the recipients of this variant, the most successful test subject was James Buchanan Barnes, the First Winter Soldier. As a result of the Winter Soldier serum, Barnes was granted enhanced physical strength with no negative side effects. However, there were no observable changes whatsoever in terms of Barnes’ personality, character and intelligence. The only aspect enhanced in Barnes' case was his physical strength.

T’Challa briefly recalled the conversation he had had with Barnes when they were all aboard his personal jet bound for Wakanda. T’Challa saw them limping out of the HYDRA facility in Siberia, and had offered to take both Steve and Barnes into Wakanda.

_“Those soldier in the chambers, do you know them?” T’Challa had asked Bucky._

_“They were HYDRA’s most elite death squad. Those were a bunch of mean sons of bitches I’m tellin’ ya’. Highest kill count in HYDRA’s history even before the serum. I’ve fought them after they took the serum, as a test. It was a cage fight. They wanted me to test the abilities of each of the test subjects.” Bucky had replied._

_“And the result?”_

_“They were strong.”_

_“How strong?” T’Challa had inquired out of curiosity._

_“There were 5 of them. There was 1 guy in particular who was stronger than I was. Probably on par with Steve. Maybe even stronger. The other 4 were significantly weaker.”_

_“So the experiments were successful?”_

_“No. There were still side effects. All of them were mentally unstable, and vulnerable to various forms of aggression. After the cage fight ended, those guys… they went berserk, completely out of control. They tried to kill each other and the handlers. It was nuts.” was what Bucky had told him._

After recalling that conversation with Barnes on the jet, the answer came to T’Challa like a flash. And immediately, T’Challa understood Erskine’s reasoning in choosing Steve to be the recipient of his serum instead of other allegedly _‘superior’_ men.

The answer was crystal clear.

There _was_ no complete formula. There never was. The problem never was about whether the Serum could perfect the man. Not at all.

On the contrary, it was about whether the man could perfect the Serum.

In other words, the final ingredient required to complete the formula was _the man himself._

How absurdly simple the solution turned out to be, T’Challa thought to himself from within the dimly lit dining booth. A chuckle soon escaped his lips as T’Challa sought more corroborative evidence for his theory. The SSS was designed to amplify what was already within the recipient. Hence, in principle, good becomes better, and bad becomes worse. That was why Steve was the only perfect byproduct of the SSS! It all was because of Steve’s innate goodness, and his unwavering morality that Project Rebirth was a complete success! Steve, therefore, by definition, was the superior man which had completed the SSS. And boy did Steve Rogers ever perfected the Super Soldier Serum like _nobody_ else. Steve had not only been granted enhanced physical strength as a result of the serum. It turned out that even his intelligence, his courage, his charisma and his _character_ was given a tremendous boost as well.

Seemingly on a roll, another thought registered in T’Challa’s mind.

T’Challa realized that his theory could, in the same way, explain the reason why James Buchanan Barnes was the only Winter Soldier who did not experience any detrimental side effects from the Winter Soldier serum! It was simply because Barnes’ innate qualities _exceeded_ those of the other 5 Winter Soldier candidates! _That_ , was why Barnes’ had shown no ill side-effects at all from the serum whereas the other five succumbed to aggression.

Satisfied with his reverie, T’Challa crossed both arms across his chest.

The act drew T’Challa’s attention onto something stored in his left pocket, which he immediately recognized as the gift Steve had presented to him just before dinner.

Reaching into his pocket, T’Challa pulled out the envelope.

From the envelope, he procured a piece of A4 paper, twice folded along the axes of symmetry. The paper contained an elegant colored sketch.

At first glance, T’Challa could tell which part of Wakanda the sketch was featuring. Well, it would had to be the view seen from the top of Wakanda’s tallest cliff. T’Challa had to admit, the sketch was very well-done, especially in the little details. Occupying the entire vertical edge on the right side of the paper was the Giant Panther statue, which T’Challa assumed was the main subject of the sketch. The rest of the sketch contained sceneries from the rainforest, which acted as a decent background.

T’Challa continued to inspect Steve’s artwork, but focusing his attention on the background sceneries of the rainforest instead of the Panther. The lianas and tropical trees were captured in exquisite detail, even the flowers adorning the lianas and the shrubs were included in the sketch. Near the center of the sketch was a water fall, the only waterfall in the entire rainforest, in fact. T’Challa knew that waterfall very well, it was the main setting in most of his treasured childhood memories.

A smirk formed on T’Challa’s lips at what he saw next.

There it was, the final piece of ‘confirmation’ T’Challa needed.

His eyes glinted in delight.

There in the sketch, standing on the waterfall’s left, was the unmistakable figure of a red-headed woman. There could be no question as to the identity of the woman featured in the sketch, none at all.

T’Challa smiled, refolded the paper and placed the paper back into the envelope. Ever since his conversation with Steve at the lobby of the Cryogenics Department that morning, T’Challa had had an inkling regarding the good Captain’s feelings towards the Black Widow.

Admittedly, T’Challa sort of came across that hunch by chance.

Earlier that morning, T’Challa had hoped to be present at Barnes’ procedure. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, he had been delayed. Upon his arrival at the Cryogenics department, he saw Steve standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby, staring out into the view, seemingly lost in thought. But from that, T’Challa knew that Barnes’ procedure had already ended. Therefore, as an attempt to be a decent host, T’Challa had walked over to Steve and initiated a conversation instead of heading straight into the Cryogenics lab.

And it just so happened that T’Challa had mentioned Romanoff’s name somewhere along their conversation – it was when Steve asked him about Ross’ knowledge into recent events. Then all of a sudden, gone was the calm and charismatic demeanor of the Captain at the mention of Romanoff’s name. It was replaced by the demeanor of a man with anxiety issues, much to T’Challa’s amusement. It was, quite frankly speaking, obvious, judging from the way Steve’s shoulders tensed up, and his eyes widened, all because her name came up in the conversation. Amusingly, Steve’s overall composure reminded T’Challa of a deer caught in headlights, or maybe of an anxious spouse awaiting news outside his wife’s delivery room. But still, T’Challa was a wise and unimpulsive man, so he hadn’t really leaped into any conclusions straight away. There were other possibilities, of course. For instance, it could be that Steve’s feelings towards Natasha were, in principle, merely that of brotherly concern. Two people could still platonically care about each other. More data would be required to make any further inferences. Hence, T’Challa had decided to seek out more confirmation.

Which he did, by throwing out a little test to Steve during dinner. Somewhere along their dinner conversation, T’Challa had deliberately mentioned the de minimis ‘confrontation’ between Natasha and his personal bodyguard, just so he could watch Steve’s reactions to it.

T’Challa chuckled once more at the thought of how Steve had taken the bait like an obedient guppy. The worried look had been back on Steve’s expressions, his unsubtle attempts to coax more information about the lady via a series of questions directed back at T’Challa. Very amusing indeed. Then again, in principle, even that little test wouldn’t be enough to establish the fact that the Captain held romantic feelings for the master spy.

The last piece of _confirmation_ was the one that truly sealed the deal.

The ‘mysterious’ red-headed woman appearing in Steve’s sketch. That was the final piece of clue T’Challa needed to convince himself of the truth of a certain proposition: that the soldier was totally in love with the spy.

As for the Miss Romanoff’s feelings towards the Captain, T’Challa couldn’t yet be sure. Though T’Challa suspected that she cared for the good Captain more than just a friend, judging from her actions at the hangar. Clearly, Miss Romanoff must have held a considerable regard for the Captain, that much T’Challa could be certain. For Miss Romanoff to sacrifice her freedom and liberty like what she’d done back at the hangar, it _had_ to be due to some sort of sentimental regard she’d held for the good Captain. It _had_ to be. There could be no other logical explanation. And considering the lengths that she'd gone through, and the amount that she had _willingly_  sacrificed, T'Challa would even go further to claim that whatever regard she held for Steve was a fierce one.

Nevertheless, the _nature_ of this regard was, quite frankly speaking, still indeterminate. Heretofore, T'Challa had yet to observe any evidence from Miss Romanoff's behavior which could indicate her regard for the Captain to be a romantic one. And for obvious reasons, T’Challa also knew that pulling fruitful tests on Miss Romanoff would be a much more daunting task compared to whatever that he’d tried on Captain Rogers tonight.

After all, unlike the good Captain, Miss Romanoff didn't wear her heart on her sleeve.

T’Challa smiled to himself.

It would be interesting indeed, to see how the relationship of those two evolve.

Though _if_ their relationship did manage to evolve into something more, there was one thing that T’Challa could be damn sure of: It was going to take a long, long, _long_ time.

Considering how utterly headstrong and _stubborn_ those two were.

The smile on T’Challa’s face faded when he felt vibrations in his pocket. He removed the device from his pocket.

 

10.51PM

 UNKNOWN CALLER ID

 

He did not like this.

The only people who had access to his private number were the Dora Milaje members and a selected few of the royal servants. The fact that he had _specifically_ requested not to be bothered for the remainder of the night was even more worrying. It could mean either of the following two things: that the nation was in trouble, or that his security had been compromised.

The call was dropped before he could pick up.

5 seconds later, the phone rang again. From the same number. This time, T’Challa swiped his thumb across the screen.

The Black Panther spoke harshly into the phone “Who are you? Identify yourself, and explain how you got this number.”

The dining booth went silent as T’Challa listened to the voice on the phone.

His eyebrows shot up suddenly.

“Oh really? I’m quite impressed.” T’Challa's tone turned amused.

Another stretch of silence ensued.

“Are you in Wakandan airspace?” T’Challa asked next, his eyebrows remained arched in dubiety.

“Hah! Incredibly wise of you to call ahead first. Wouldn’t want your jet to end up in flames.” said T’Challa.

The person at the other end of the line seemed to have said something amusing which caused T’Challa to laugh heartily.

“Can I get an ETA?” asked T’Challa as he began to walk away from the dining booth.

T’Challa nodded, “That should be enough time.”

“I can have a limo on standby at the airport by then.” he added seconds later.

“You on your own?” T’Challa asked.

T’Challa began descending the winding staircase towards the ground floor while nodding away at something he’d heard on the other end of the line.

T’Challa stepped off the stairs onto the ground floor.

He halted his steps suddenly, his tone turned dead serious.

“I’d advise you to avoid taking the south-east trajectory. Heavy artilleries lie in that area."

"Circle around to the north, I will send a drone to guide you in.”

"Go off stealth mode. And make sure that your jet's transponder is accessible."

“The drone will send a ping to your jet’s transponder once it is within range. Just be on the lookout for it.”

T’Challa smiled, “Don’t worry, all that can be arranged, I'm sure.”

There was a 5-second long silence.

“Well, for what its worth, Miss Romanoff, welcome to Wakanda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning relates closely to the contents of this chapter. I hope everyone understood the connection :)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this chapter. It is mainly about T'Challa's dissecting Steve's character, and trying to understand him. T'Challa in my understanding is a shrewd and careful person. He'd want to know and understand a person before deciding whether the person could be trusted. And that was what I wrote him to be doing in this chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think on the comments below. 
> 
> Stay tuned, folks. 
> 
> Isaiah


	12. The Third Guest

_“Beauty is everywhere a welcome guest.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe._

 

* * *

 

**11.16PM Wakandan Time**

** Wakandan Airport, Central Wakanda, Africa. **

The confident sway of hips.

The light fluttering of the lapels on an unzipped black leather jacket.

The rhythmic clicking and scraping of heels against asphalt.

And a flurry of red locks.

That about summed up the hustle and bustle of the tarmac.

 

*     *     *

 

It was a 7-hour flight across the Atlantic from the farm to Wakanda. By good fortune, Natasha was able to catch some much needed shut-eye throughout the majority of the flight, and was only roused from her beauty sleep when the computer had alerted her to the quinjet’s proximity to Wakanda's airspace. In total, she had slept for about 5 hours or so, and was feeling much revitalized by the time the quinjet's transponder received a ping from Wakanda's air drone.

Hail auto-pilot.  

Natasha was silently thanking whichever Godsend who had invented the world’s first auto-piloting algorithm when her eyes spotted the airport’s terminal building approximately 200 meters to her right.

With a sharp right turn, she began pacing towards the building, feeling herself picking up her pace the closer she was to the building.

Was it nerves? She supposed it was. Seeing how her palms were sweaty and all. Despite her knowledge that Steve was alive in Wakanda, she still couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of apprehension and trepidation at the pit of her stomach. Dozens of questions coursed through Natasha’s mind as her toned legs pushed her closer towards the terminal building.

How did Steve end up here?

Where the hell did Steve go after he and Barnes left the hangar?

What the hell happened after they both flew off in the quinjet?

Did Steve manage to defeat the 5 Winter Soldiers and complete his mission?

Did Steve come to Wakanda under his own volition, or was he coerced?

Did the government know that he was here?

Was Barnes still with him?

Natasha stopped abruptly in her tracks as her mind registered another thought.

Immediately, her eyes swept across the large expanse of the airport.

The tarmac was quasi-vacant. She saw a couple of fighter jets parked on the other end of the tarmac, probably about 500 meters from where her quinjet was, and that was it.

The airport was otherwise empty.

But Natasha _knew_ , that something was missing.

A twinge of disquiet cascaded through her veins, and along her spine before settling at the pit of her belly. The well-oiled gears in her mind churned effortlessly as the brilliant spy put the pieces together.

That quinjet.

The one Steve had stolen from the German airport.

It was nowhere to be found.

Which could only imply one thing: that Steve hadn’t piloted the quinjet to Wakanda.

How on Earth did Steve arrive at Wakanda then?

Well, Natasha was pretty sure she knew the answer to that one.

Someone from Wakanda must have brought him here.

T’Challa.

But how did T'Challa know where Steve and Barnes were headed to?

She supposed that the question was vain, considering the fact that Steve had clearly abandoned the quinjet he had stolen from the German airport.

So it _had_ to be that someone had brought Steve into Wakanda.

And it was more likely to be T’Challa than anyone else.

So there she had a working hypothesis. T'Challa had brought Steve into Wakanda.

But on what terms?

Was it imprisonment?

Or was it refuge?

Was Steve coerced? Did they have something on Steve which forced Steve to comply? Did they use Barnes as leverage to get Steve to do whatever they wanted such as forcing him into Wakanda?

Was it another one of the government’s agenda? 

Worst, was this some sort of temporary holding place before he was handed over to the task force? Natasha silently prayed that that wasn’t the case.

But if Steve wasn’t coerced and had come to Wakanda on his own free will, then why didn’t he take the quinjet to Wakanda?

Perhaps he didn’t know the coordinates of Wakanda?

But Wakanda was placed under SHIELD’s radar years ago and Steve was a Level 8 SHIELD agent and plus, he had a photographic memory. So it was unlikely that he didn’t know the coordinates.

Unless...

Was he too hurt to pilot the jet?

Natasha’s grip on her duffle tightened at the thought. She began walking again, at a much faster pace this time. 

She hadn’t asked about Steve during her brief phone call with T’Challa 30 minutes ago, and with good reasons too. An important principle in espionage was to never assume knowledge of a situation until you really do. She wasn’t sure about T’Challa’s intentions, therefore, she couldn’t afford to reveal the real reason for her visit to Wakanda, at least not yet anyway. After all, it was T’Challa who had told Ross about her actions at the hangar, so she had no idea which ‘side’ T’Challa was on. To Natasha, there were really only two ‘sides’ that mattered, A) the side which wanted Steve dead, and B) the side which didn’t. The way she figured? It was _her_ job to figure out the ‘side’ which T’Challa had pledged his allegiance to. In fact, that was another reason she came here to Wakanda apart from finding Steve.

Had the circumstances not been this _compromising_ , her mission would undoubtedly involve some form of pseudo-protocol as simplistic as: get in, find Steve, and then get the fuck out of there. But unfortunately for the Black Widow, she was caught in a tight spot because she had virtually zero intel whatsoever with regards to the circumstances of Steve’s presence in Wakanda. For one, she knew that Steve was alive in Wakanda and………

Well, that was pretty much all she knew.

The plan, was to arrive at Wakanda as an ally, and then dig up whatever intel about Steve’s stay in Wakanda while she was there. If it turned out that Steve was under Wakandan protection, well then, peachy, maybe she’d even invite him to join her for a nice little stroll in some Wakandan town to live and embrace Wakanda’s cultural idiosyncrasies. Heck, she could even try setting Steve up with some nice Wakandan lady, score him a hot date or two. Bet that’d be pretty fun. _But,_ if Steve was in any way imprisoned in Wakanda, then she would have to find a way to get him out. The latter might take a while, indubitably, but still very much within the realms of possibility – she was The Black Widow after all.

There was, of course, the concern that she had been deemed an unwelcomed person in Wakanda before she could even enter the nation. Which was why she had given T’Challa a ring around 30 minutes ago: to gauge the playing field. If it really turned out that she was unwelcomed? Hmm, well, let’s just say, that she would have to get creative, _really, really creative._ Though luck was clearly on her side since T’Challa had welcomed her arrival with substantial exuberance. Then again, even the warm welcome by her host wasn’t enough for her to let her guard down completely.

Either way, she was infiltrating Wakanda that night, be it through legal or illegal means. There was absolutely no question about that.

The automatic glass door of the terminal building slid open.

 

* * *

 

She spotted the limo at the pick-up zone. It was a 2-door stretch limousine with tinted windows. Considering the locale, she was willing to bet all her stakes that the vehicle was constructed entirely of vibranium. T’Challa was nowhere to be seen, but the Wakandan woman who had ‘threatened’ her in Berlin a day ago stood blocking the long rear door of the limo.

_Great, so she’s my chauffeur now. Real fun._

What ultimately transpired approximately thirty seconds later, was a staring match between two women. The tension between the two was palpable.

Long, generous red locks versus baldness.

Not-so-tall versus tall.

Fair skin versus dark skin.

Beautiful versus beautiful.

Russian versus Wakandan.

Avenger versus Dora Milaje.

Quite a showdown that was.

Neither spoke.

The redhead was waiting for her newfound ‘BFF’ to step the fuck aside so she could actually board the goddamn limo, which (if she may be so bold to make such a claim) was _clearly_ meant for her use.

BFF continued her death stare.

A real amiable bunch, these Wakandans, seriously.

But then again, hadn’t she done the exact same thing back in Berlin a day ago, when she blocked the door to T’Challa’s limo, and challenged the same bald bodyguard to a staring match?

A smirk quickly found its way onto Natasha’s lips, betraying her amusement at the uncanny role reversal. And immediately, she knew what her opening line was going to be. How could she not? After all, it was only _polite_ to return the _favor_ , wasn’t it?

“Move. Or be moved…” said Natasha, her smirk widened.

Apparently, that broke the ice as a quick smile formed on BFF’s face. Perhaps even macho Wakandan women who had a thing for ‘moving’ people could appreciate a good quip every once in a while.

At about the same time, the rear door of the limo slid open and T’Challa stepped out.

“Miss Romanoff.”

“T’Challa.” was all Natasha said. She would need to coax information about Steve pretty soon, but she was gonna have to find the right time.

_Now’s too soon._

She schooled her features.

 _Can’t let him know that I’m here to get Steve._  

As far as T’Challa was concerned, she was only there to seek refuge. She’d only divulge that much. She had made no mentions whatsoever regarding Steve.

T’Challa, on the other hand, seemed to find her reserved behavior rather odd. For one, Natasha wasn’t behaving in the way that T’Challa had expected she would, such as bombarding him with questions about the good Captain’s well-being, for instance. Well, even though she hadn't explicitly stated it during their brief phone call, T'Challa had assumed that she had come to Wakanda to look for the good Captain. Had he assumed wrong? He gave Natasha a quick once over and narrowed his eyes, trying to figure the spy out.

What happened next took Natasha by complete surprise.

T’Challa burst out laughing.

 _Now this is awkward…_ Natasha thought warily.

Natasha’s face scrunched up in confusion but T’Challa spoke before she had a chance to utter another word.

“Oh I see what’s going on here... you don’t trust me.” T’Challa nodded, “Understandably so.”

_Shit. Cover’s blown._

Should she abort? Damn it. What a waste.

Natasha was about to open her mouth to voice her indignation before she was, once again, cut off by T’Challa.

“Relax Miss Romanoff. I have a pretty good guess as to why you’re here. And just for the record, you have no cause for worry. I can assure you that Captain Rogers and I are on good terms now. They are both under Wakandan protection until things quiet down. It’s unofficial though. Nobody except us knows about this arrangement. And relax, I didn’t tell Stark either.”

 _Well, then._ How about that.

_Whoa, whoa, whoa, Romanoff. Just hold on a second…_

Natasha quickly regained her skepticism.

_It could be a ploy. Or a trap._

Yeah… A trap, in order to capture her, using Steve as bait.

Sensing Natasha’s skepticism, T’Challa smiled again.

“Takes much more than words to convince the Black Widow, so it seems.” T’Challa said before giving a curt nod to Miss BFF.

The latter reached into her pocket and took out a golden envelope with Wakanda's insignia printed at the bottom right corner.

Natasha took the envelope from BFF.

“What’s this?”

“ _That_ , is an invitation I had sent out to Captain Rogers requesting him to join me for dinner tonight, which he _did_. And _this,_ ” T’Challa reached into his own pocket, took out a piece of folded A4 paper and began unfolding it, “is the gift Captain Rogers had brought me when he attended the invitation.”

Natasha handed the invitation back to BFF and quickly scanned the A4 paper that T’Challa was holding.

It was a sketch, a very beautiful sketch. Her eyes skimmed through the paper.

“Nice sketch.” Natasha said. She recognized the style, and the artwork looked a lot like Steve’s, she would give T’Challa that one. And she’d also recognized the color tones of Steve’s color pencils.

But she needed more confirmation than that.

And Natasha knew just what to look for.

Natasha was familiar with Steve’s drawing habits, including how he would always leave his signature behind the page of every single one of his sketches.

Natasha smirked.

“Show me the back of the paper.”

T’Challa laughed and turned the paper over.

There it was. The familiar cursive which read ‘Steve Rogers’ with the day’s date scrawled underneath it.

Natasha’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“So you believe me now?” T’Challa asked, his face crinkled up in good nature.

“Take me to him.”

 

* * *

 

The limo was spacious and it contained 2 rows of seats. The seat configurations were such that each seating row faced each other. There was ample leg space separating the two rows. Right at the center of the leg space was a holographic projector. Natasha and T’Challa sat facing each other.

Once seated, Natasha crossed her legs and stared out of the tinted window.

Neither of them seemed to be in any mood for conversation, so they sat in silence for a while.

T’Challa had the distinct impression that the spy was still being cautious around him, much to his amusement.

10 minutes of the ride lapsed before Natasha’s clipped voice pierced through the veil of silence like a dagger.

“Is he okay?”

When T’Challa didn’t answer immediately, Natasha tore her gaze away from the window and saw T’Challa tapping away on his phone’s screen.

2 seconds later, the holographic projector at the center came to life.

“This,” T’Challa waved his phone across the light of the projector, and immediately a hologram popped up, “was sent to me by a royal scout this evening around 7PM tonight. It was found right underneath the tallest cliff in our rainforest.”

Natasha scrutinized the hologram. It was a set of shoe prints left on dry soil. There was nothing spectacular about the prints except that it was, well, _deep._ Natasha reached towards the projector and picked up the holographic image to better examine the depth of the mark. From what the spy gathered, the shoe imprint must be at least 6 centimeters deep into the dry soil. In an instant, Natasha’s eyes sparkled in understanding.

“This shoe print, you think it belongs to Steve.”

“I do. And I have good reasons to believe so.” T’Challa swiped the screen on his phone and once again waved the phone across the lights of the projector.

New holograms filled the space of the limo. This time, it showed a tall cliff.

“This cliff, as you can see, is at least 5000 feet tall. It hasn’t rained in Wakanda for days so the soil must be dry. A shoe imprint that deep on such dry soil can only be caused by a huge impact of the shoe’s base against the ground. And I don’t think anyone in Wakanda other than the Captain could’ve survived a leap from the top of a 5000-feet cliff.”

_Well, if he was jumping around already then I guess that’s a good sign._

Natasha nodded, “I see, so he’s physically okay.”

“He was in pretty bad shape when I met him yesterday. I met him in Siberia, by the way, it was where he and Barnes were headed after they left us at the airport. There was a HYDRA facility there, where the 5 Winter Soldiers were kept. Anyway, the Captain seemed physically fine after a day’s rest. When I saw him again this morning, there were still some scrapes and surface wounds on his cheeks, and he told me himself that he had some broken ribs which would heal by tomorrow. But when I met him for dinner just now, the cuts on his cheeks had already vanished. And, well, if he could jump off a cliff that tall… I doubt that he’s in too much trouble, Miss Romanoff.” T’Challa smiled kindly.  

“Good to know.”

Natasha hesitated for a few seconds before asking, “You said you found them in… Siberia, was it? But how did you know where Steve and Barnes were headed to? We never really found out at the airport.”

“I tailed Stark.”

Natasha’s eyes widened immediately, seemingly taken aback by what she heard. “Stark _knew_? How? He didn’t tell me.”

“Yes. But he only found out after you had left the compound. He told me that he did some digging and found corroborative evidences to support Captain Rogers’ story. As for how he found out the exact location of the HYDRA facility where the Captain was headed, he said that he managed to get Wilson talking.”

_Damn it, Tony. You could’ve called me, and we could’ve gone to Siberia together as Cap’s backup. Yet you didn’t. So much time wasted. I’m so gonna kick your ass for this, Shell-Head._

“What exactly happened in Siberia?”

T’Challa sighed, almost as if he dreaded hearing the question. He leaned back in his seat and said nothing. Just like that, the tight knot returned to the pit of her stomach.

_Something bad must’ve happened._

“T’Challa… Tell me what happened.” Natasha pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Miss Romanoff… All I can say is that… what happened in Siberia was something deeply personal between Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Stark. It is really not my place to reveal it to you. I think it would be best if you hear the story from Captain Roger’s own mouth. I’m sorry.”

“Fine, guess I’d have to _wait_ for people to tell me things, _again._ But hey, at least this time I wouldn’t have to wait for one whole day to have _some_ meagre idea about the vital status of the people I care about, so that’s just _fantastic_ I suppose.” Natasha said in a tone that dripped with acrimony.

T’Challa flinched slightly and shook his head in resignation.  

“I _can_ , however, tell you what I’ve mentioned to Ross yesterday. I left out the details which concerned Captain Roger’s and Mr. Stark’s privacy.”

“I’m listening…”

“Apparently, the whole scheme was a revenge plot orchestrated by Helmut Zemo, that fake UN psychiatrist. He lost his family during the Battle of Sokovia. Long story short, he blamed the Avengers for that, and he wanted revenge against you guys. The whole idea was to destroy the Avengers from within. And he figured he could do so by getting the Avengers to kill each other.”

Natasha quickly put two and two together.

As her brilliant mind worked, her beautiful eyebrows furrowed deeply, almost as if they were knitted together by an invisible thread.

“So Steve and Tony beat the living shit out of each other? Was that what happened in Siberia?!!” Natasha half-shouted.

T’Challa kept quiet, not knowing how to respond to her outburst.

“Ребята <children>…”

“I’m sorry, Miss Romanoff. It wasn’t my intention to upset you...”

“ _Christ_ , I leave these boys on their own for no more than one _fucking_ day, and _this_ is what happened? _Ughh!_ Боже. This is such childish bullshit.” Natasha shook her head in utter disgust, her red tresses spilled to the front of her breasts, covering the front of her leather jacket.

Her host sat in awkward silence.

“How? How did this Zemo guy get them to fight each other?” Natasha asked after a few calming breaths.

“Well, that’s the personal part. You need to hear it from the Captain himself, Miss Romanoff. It really isn’t my place to tell you.”

Natasha wasn’t a fool. She knew what T’Challa really meant. He meant that there might be a chance that Steve would choose not to tell her the full story. More reason for her to believe that something really, _really_ terrible had happened in Siberia.

Natasha heaved a heavy sigh, but decided to drop the subject for now.

“What about Zemo? Where is he now?”

“In custody. I handed him over to Ross. Stark and I had personally escorted him into his holding cell at the Raft just this morning. Sentenced to life in prison. No chance of parole.”

“And what about the Winter Soldiers? What’s their role in all this?”

“Apparently, they were merely tools to lure the Captain and Mr. Stark into one place.”

“And? What became of them?”

“Well, Zemo blew up them all up with powerful explosives. The bodies were all charred beyond saving, at least according to Wakanda’s top forensic scientists.”

Natasha’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the absurdity of what she had heard.

“So. What? Now he thinks he’s some self-righteous fella doing the world a favor by destroying HYDRA’s work?” Natasha scoffed.

T’Challa gave her a wry smile and a shrug, but said nothing in return.

Natasha’s mind began working again. She thought a bit about what T’Challa had just told her.

_Blow them up? Isn’t that a bit overboard?_

“Did you find out why he destroyed the test subjects’ bodies? It seemed a bit unnecessary.” Natasha questioned again.

“That’s actually the weirdest part about this whole incident. I asked him about it, but he kept quiet throughout the entire journey back to JCTC’s HQ. Never said a word. And he had even attempted suicide when I subdued him outside the HYDRA facility. Well, obviously, I prevented it.”

Natasha snorted.

“You saved his life. I’m sure you did the world a _huge_ favor for that stunt. Hey, I hear they even give out medals for suicide preventions these days. Interested?”

T’Challa chuckled in good-humor, shaking his head as he laughed.

“Then again, for the King of Wakanda to receive a _normal_ medal would be a bit condescending, I suppose. Plus, I don’t think the bureaucrats can afford the vibranium ones. But hey, you can always take a portion out of that massive rock of yours at home, and make yourself a medal. Bet that’d be pretty fun…” Natasha sassed, her eyes holding a humorous gleam.

T’Challa’s laughter filled the space of the limo.

“Ever thought of becoming a comedienne, Miss Romanoff?”

“No. Why? Is there a vacancy in Wakanda?” she teased.

The King’s eyes crinkled in amusement, “I’m not making a job offer, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“No? Dang. And here I was, looking forward to hear a good story about the shortage of stage clowns in the world’s wealthiest nation.”

T’Challa guffawed.

Seeing her host’s obvious delight, Natasha allowed a hint of a smile to show on her own face.

“What I actually meant was that since you’re now a fugitive on the run and all, it’d be a pretty good cover for you.” remarked T’Challa.

“Oh? And when exactly, might I ask, did the King of Wakanda become such an expert in espionage?” she asked teasingly.

The King chuckled.  

“How much are you willing to bet, that no one would associate the deadly Black Widow with somebody who does gags for a living?” T’Challa challenged.

The spy smirked, “Sorry. No bets. I don’t own vibranium chips.” she paused, “But I’ll consider your suggestion.”

The limo hit a few bumps, interrupting their brief exchange.

“What about Barnes? You didn’t kill him did you?” Natasha asked when the car ride turned smooth once again.

“He’s safe. He’d requested to be put in Cryogenic sleep until we can figure out how to reverse HYDRA’s mental programming. The procedure was completed this morning. I had him placed under the supervision of Doctor Afia, the HOD of WIS’ Cryogenics Department, with the Captain’s approval, of course.” At Natasha’s obvious expression of alarm, T’Challa quickly clarified, “Don’t worry, she’s clean. You can trust her.”

Natasha shook her head in disbelief, an incredulous laugh escaped her beautiful lips, “So let me get this straight, just _a day_ ago, you nearly clawed Barnes’ head right off his shoulders, and now, what? You’re a member of his barbershop quartet now? Who would’ve thought that things would turn out to be so much _fun_?”

“As amusing as it sounds, Miss Romanoff. It was completely true what I said before. Zemo manipulated me. And I was nearly consumed by vengeance as a result. Helping Barnes is just... well, you can think of it as my way of righting wrongs.”

Natasha sighed.

“Well I guess that answers the question of why Steve’s here in Wakanda.”

 

* * *

 

“Where are we headed to anyway?” Natasha asked when T’Challa reached over to shut down the holographic projector.

For a moment, T’Challa stared at her in amusement, his eyebrows arched high.

Natasha smirked.

“Sorry, usually I’m able to tell these things right away. But it’s my first time here. Well, I guess _you_ should know,” Natasha shrugged, “I mean with Wakanda’s non-outsider policy and all that. Kinda puts a damper on tourism, don’t you think?”

T’Challa laughed.

“Well, and here I am, thinking that you people from SHIELD knew every nook and corner of Wakanda already.” T’Challa added a nonchalant shrug of his own with a smug smirk, “what with Wakanda appearing all over SHIELD’s radar and all that.”

Natasha’s smirk transfigured into a throaty chuckle, “Touché. And you came about this knowledge how?”

T’Challa’s smirk widened, “Like I said before, Miss Romanoff, Wakanda’s resources are considerable.”

“Considerable resources, yes. But tourism? Not so much.” Natasha said wittily.

“And to answer your first question,” T’Challa grinned in amusement, “I’m taking you to the place where the Captain is currently staying. The Royal Guest Suite. I’ve arranged for your accommodation to be in the same building as the Captain’s. Your suite is just one floor above the Captain’s. That is, _unless_ …… if you’d prefer to stay in the same suite as the good Captain…”

T’Challa smirked at the end of his sentence.

Natasha rolled her eyes. _Men._

“ _No_. An _extra_ room would be much appreciated thank you very much.” Natasha said firmly, but her expression appeared amused.

“If you say so, Miss Romanoff. If you say so…”

That smug expression never left T’Challa’s face for the rest of the car ride.

 

* * *

 

**11.47PM Wakandan Time**

** Natasha Romanoff’s Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa. **

It was an impressive suite, no doubt.

The entire living area was an open plan room, well, with the exception of a large bedroom at the end.

Natasha entered the bedroom and checked it out while T’Challa stood outside in the living area having a phone conversation. There was a King-sized bed and a mahogany nightstand beside it. The bathroom was located in the bedroom too. It all seemed pretty luxurious and well-made for a country which allegedly hosted very little guests.

T’Challa had just got off his phone when Natasha went back out into the living area.

“I hope that the suite is to your liking.” T’Challa stated as he pocketed his phone.

“It is pretty nice. But it’s a damn shame that nobody’s gonna use them after we’re gone though.”

“Well, not exactly. Sometimes, this place would be used to accommodate Wakandan high ministers when they visit Central Wakanda for meetings.”

Natasha nodded.

She opened her mouth before shutting it again in hesitance.

The subtle act did not go unnoticed by T’Challa.

“What is it, Miss Romanoff?”

“No. It’s nothing. I just… Thank you, T’Challa. For all this.”

_For taking care of him. For bringing him back alive._

“You’re welcome, Miss Romanoff. You can stay here for as long as you like. And... I'm sorry to say this, but the terms and conditions that I've told you about in the car ... those can’t be helped... I've really done my best, Miss Romanoff.” T’Challa shot her an apologetic look at the end.  

“It’s okay, T’Challa. It's just how the world works. So, I get it. Besides, you've done more than enough for all of us. You’ve kept him safe and brought him back alive. And....” Natasha sighed, her voice turning into a soft whisper, “and that’s just...”

T’Challa nodded, “It’s the only thing that matters, right?”

Natasha smiled, “It’s... ” She lowered her gaze to the ground, “It’s enough...”

“Well, it's my job to make sure that it is.” said her host.

“Lucky us, then. A lot of things could be done if we have Wakanda’s support. I mean...” Natasha paused and made an open-armed gesture at the space surrounding them, “you guys really have everything here.”

T’Challa smiled.

“Well, we do strive to improve and upgrade our infrastructures as much as we can. And, before I forget, I should also inform you that any facilities in Central Wakanda are yours to utilize throughout your entire stay. _Including,_ ” T’Challa threw a pointed look at the nasty bruises on the spy’s neck, “our medical facilities.”

_Damn. Really gotta put some make up on to cover the bruises before I go to Steve’s._

Natasha smiled tentatively as she lifted her right hand to cover the nasty contusions on her neck, “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Alright then. Have a pleasant evening. Oh, and _also,_ will you save me some pain by staying the hell away from our computer systems? If you need anything intel-wise, all you have to do is _ask_. And by asking, I meant asking with your mouth, not your fingers.” T’Challa said as he began heading towards the door.

Natasha chortled at the comment.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind. But I make no promises.”

T’Challa’s hand was already touching the door handle when he suddenly stopped in his track. He turned back to face Natasha again. His expression humorless.

“I can’t help but notice that Captain Rogers is very affectionate of you.”

“Do you now?” Natasha raised her brows.

T’Challa’s lips curled into a smile.

“He wasn’t hiding it very well. He spoke very highly of you. And he seemed to care very deeply about your well-being. Just this morning, he literally pleaded me to offer you with the same protection I had offered to Mr. Barnes.”

Try as she might, but at that moment, Natasha couldn’t help but feel the flutters seeping into her heart and the butterflies twirling around in her belly. All of a sudden, the room felt all too warm.

She cleared her throat once and recovered herself.

“I’ll be sure to thank him, then. And for the record, I care about him too. I…uh… I owe him.”

T’Challa smirked, “Trust me, I _know_ , that you care about him. So much that you’d zap me with 2000 volts of electricity _thrice_ for his sake.”

Natasha threw a sheepish look at her host.

“Oh. Yeah… that. Sorry. No hard feelings?” Natasha cringed slightly at her lame attempt at an apology.

“All forgiven, Miss Romanoff. I understand completely.”

T’Challa’s smile was kind and sympathetic, which had Natasha going onto the defensive instantly.

_I don’t need no pity._

“Your magnanimity deserves honor." Natasha remarked drily before allowing a smirk to take over her countenance, "Want a medal?”

Whenever she needs to hide her emotional vulnerability, wit and humor would be the first thing she would turn to, always. Luckily for her, the King of Wakanda seemed to have a decent sense of humor as a series of contagious laughter erupted from within T’Challa.

“ _A medal_ won’t be necessary. What _is it_ with you and medals anyway?” T’Challa gave her a funny look before continuing, “Anyway, I’m glad that Captain Rogers has you by his side, someone who’s worthy of his companionship.”

Natasha eyes widened with shock. Being worthy of Steve’s companionship? _HER?! NATASHA MY-LEDGER-IS-DRIPPING-RED ROMANOFF?_ Worthy, of STEVE PARAGON-OF-VIRTUE ROGERS' companionship?

Effing wow.

Did hell just freeze over? She kinda assumed that it did.

Seriously, other than Laura, no one else’s ever said that to her. Not even Clint had ever mentioned it so directly to her face.

She quickly recovered. 

“I uh… thanks. I guess? Well, he kinda needs someone to watch his back and keep him in line from time to time. He tends to punch his way out of things, if you haven’t already noticed.”

T’Challa smiled, “True, but I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Oh, really. And why’s that?” Natasha questioned, her eyebrows raised.

“The Captain seemed… troubled. And tensed, as if something’s been bothering him. It took me quite some time, but I now have a pretty good idea of what it was that’s been bothering him. That being said, I think what the Captain needs the most right now is closure. And _somehow,_ ” T’Challa threw her a pointed stare, “I think you are the only person who can give him that closure. Think very deeply about it, Miss Romanoff.”

Natasha stared blankly at the closing door.

No clue what _that_ was all about.

 

* * *

 

**11.55PM Wakandan Time**

** Steve Rogers’ Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa **

He was hungry.

And there were no more bananas left to save him this time.

The banana bonanza from the afternoon had long been depleted. He had munched off the remainder of them amidst the internal debate he had been deeply engaged in roughly an hour ago (about the things he wanted to say to Tony in his letter). Frankly, Steve wasn’t even sure if his letter could get the point across. For all he knew, his friendship with Tony was already ruined beyond saving. He briefly entertained the idea of picking up the PBX and calling the front reception again to request for another stack of paper. Fire-proof ones; just in case Tony decided to burn his letter without ever reading it.

As if that’d make a difference.

With a sigh, Steve signed off the second letter he had penned, folded the paper and slipped it into an empty envelope. He then dropped the envelope beside another envelope containing the first letter he had composed. He leaned forward in the tall stool he was sitting on and placed both elbows on the kitchen counter top.

The first letter was addressed to the New Avenger’s Facility.

Steve glanced at the envelope containing the first letter. Once again, a pang of guilt and regret overcame him as he read the first line of his own handwriting at the front of the envelope. It was the name of a friend he had recently lost – Tony Stark.

He stared at the name for what felt like hours. Cycling through each alphabet in the name, repeatedly, unendingly, _ad infinitum_. He paused a little at the ‘r’ in 'Stark'. He noticed that perhaps he might’ve put a little too much curve at the top of the ‘r’, making it appear more like an ‘n’ instead of an ‘r’.

He ignored his little observation and thought back to the letter’s contents.

Had he said enough?

Would Tony even read it?

He didn’t say much, that was for sure. Hell, there wasn’t much for him to say, even.

What the hell was he supposed to say anyway?

What, like, ‘Hey, Tony? I’m sorry I lied to you for months about your parents?’

Or, ‘Hey, Tony. Sorry that I punched you and dented your little metal helmet. Though if I’m honest, you pretty much kicked my ass back there. Guess we had finally settled that score between us the day we first met, huh? When I asked you to put on your suit and go a few rounds…’

Yeah. Like those would help.

In the end, Steve settled for a short prose which began with his expression of relief at Tony’s return to the compound and a short ramble about his own faith in people. And then a few lines after, Steve had included a short but heartfelt admission that he had really been sparing himself by concealing the circumstances of Maria and Howard’s death from Tony. There was also a brief mention of the Accords and Steve’s own dramatic way of saying that they should both just agree to disagree, that he’d respect Tony’s viewpoints on the Accords. The letter ended with a promise.  

Feeling the strain of his emotions, Steve flipped the envelope over on its back, as if the sight of that name had stung his eyes. He turned his attention to the second envelope instead, which was yet to be addressed.

Steve had qualms about writing the second letter if he was honest, for he was beyond certain that he would be crossing a lot of lines had he chose to deliver said epistle. After a few moments’ internal struggle, Steve steeled his resolve. 

_Post it, Rogers. This isn’t about you or your guilt. You’re doing this for Tony’s sake._

Without another second’s hesitation, Steve picked up the pen and wrote on the second envelope:

MISS VIRGINIA POTTS

CEO OF STARK INDUSTRIES

STARK INDUSTRIES HEAD QUARTERS

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Dropping the pen back onto the countertop, Steve picked up both envelopes and stood up from the tall stool.

_There. All done. I’ll ask T’Challa to deliver them for me before I leave Wakanda._

Satisfied with his work for the night, Steve made a beeline for the bedroom to put away both letters.

_Come to think of, I’ve still got that energy bar kept in the suit’s utility belt. Might as well grab that on the way._

 

* * *

 

He had just picked up his utility belt when he heard an insistent rapping of knuckles against his door. He paused in his actions, waiting for a couple more seconds just in case he had imagined the sound, not an unlikely occurrence, given his glucose deprived brain and all (he tends to hallucinate if his blood glucose dropped below optimal levels). But as it turned out, there was no mistake. Somebody _was_ knocking on his door, and rather enthusiastically too, if he might add, judging from the rapid successions of the sharp rapping sounds.

_Who could that be?_

Steve eyed the compartment of the utility belt containing the energy bar while his nightly visitant rapped away at the door.

In the end, he had opted not to answer the door with a snack bar stuffed in his mouth, courtesy of his omnipresent politeness.

With a groan, he flung the utility belt unceremoniously onto the bed and began walking out of the bedroom.

_Can’t a hungry guy have his supper in peace?_

For a moment, Steve thought that he had gotten a whiff of Natasha’s sweet floral scent as he was crossing the span of the suite towards the door.

_Congratulations, Rogers. Now, you’re really hallucinating. I bet Erskine would be so proud of you._

_Must be the hunger, I guess._ Steve thought when he finally reached the door.

He hadn't bothered with the peep-hole. Honestly, he just wanted to get this over with and return to his supper.

The knocking on the door finally ceased when Steve turned at the door handle and pulled.

_THWACK!_

The door was stuck.

Right. The security chain.

As Steve lifted his left hand onto the chain, his nose caught yet another whiff of Natasha’s scent. This time, however, it appeared to be stronger.

_Yeah right, keep dreaming, Rogers._

Steve gave the chain a couple of tugs.

_It’s probably a common cologne. Anybody can wear it. Don’t get your hopes up._

The annoying chain was removed from its slot after quite some effort.

_Seriously, whoever this is had better be some Wakandan Samaritan coming to deliver a second round of banana bonanza, or else-_

Steve yanked the door open.

In an instant, the feminine scent which had occupied countless of his wildest fantasies barreled through the doorway, smacking him full force in the face.

His jaw went slack in disbelief, and his eyes as wide as the shield that was formerly his.

Any thoughts about food were blasted to kingdom come by the sight of the beautiful woman standing in front of him. Her clothes were plain, simple, and black from crown to toe. Yet the plainness of her outfit did absolutely nothing to curtail the tantalizing beauty that Natasha Romanoff possessed in such overwhelming abundance.

Steve’s mouth watered. And it ain’t got _nothing_ to do with hunger.

Her voluptuous hour-glass figure was clad in a black tank top and skinny fit black pants with a pair of heeled knee-length boots covering the bottom half of her legs. Over that ridiculously sinful tank top, she donned a black round-necked leather jacket, one which literally gave out an I-know-I’m-hot-but-I-can-still-kick-your-ass-in-one-thousand-ways sort of aura. Long and wavy fiery-red tresses framed her angelic face, accentuating every square-inch of her alabaster complexion. Her sharp, evergreen eyes held his baby blues in a teasing stare. God, he could really lose himself in those eyes forever, drawn inexorably into the hues of emerald that they held, allowing himself to be siphoned into a realm of eternal bliss.

And then those lips, Christ, those luscious and kissable lips were configured into her trademark smirk, teasing him, beckoning him, reminding him of how much he had wanted her, how much he _still_ wanted her. All of a sudden, the sparks of desire, which he thought had long abandoned him, came surging back, re-entering his system in the most abrupt of ways, igniting every nerve ending in his body as every inch of his skin scorched with pure, unadulterated want.  

Natasha Romanoff was gonna be the death of him one day.

And he found that he didn’t mind that one bit, because if there was one way he was gonna die without any regrets, it would be to die in her arms, with the image of her beautiful face being the last thing he sees as the life slowly drains out of him.   

All of a sudden, his hunger didn’t seem quite as important anymore, so much so that he’d gladly tell his hunger to go have sex with itself right about now.

Those luscious lips began to move.

“Hey soldier.”

God Almighty. Steve nearly came undone at that sound.

That sultry and husky voice that was so undeniably _hers._

Good God. She was here. She was really here. Good freaking God.

Yeah.

It was decided.

His hunger could go fuck itself for the rest of the night for all he cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ребята - ri-bya-ta. It means children in Russian. 
> 
> Hehehe. What did you guys think about my reference to the Stan Lee's CACW cameo (Tony Stank) in the story? Clever much? Hehe. It just came off the top of my head when I was trying to write that part. When I was writing about Steve's letter, I suddenly remembered that Tony Stank thing and I figured I need to figure out a way to incorporate it in my story. Well, it took some creativity and a little bit of cleverness, but I worked it out. I hoped that my efforts at least made you guys smile?
> 
> What did you guys think about this chapter? 
> 
> Let me know on the comments below. Thoughts and comments will be appreciated. 
> 
> Till next time. 
> 
> Isaiah.


	13. The Soldier and The Spy

_“Agent Romanoff. Captain Rogers.” – Phil Coulson, the Avengers (2012)_

 

* * *

 

Her scent.

Her sweet, intoxicating, feminine scent; wafting from her delectable figure, looming in the doorway, and hovering in the meagre space separating their bodies; waiting to be savored, waiting to be tasted.

The same scent, which had long since awakened within him this… physical… _ache,_ and this… _craving_ for the redhead; for her attention, for her touch, her voice, her smile, her time, her body, her _life,_ her devotion, her _love,_ her _everything_.

It was like some sort of addiction.

Yes.

Steve Rogers was an addict, a total Natasha-Romanoff junkie; an addict, fighting an endless battle against his unquenchable, and _dangerous_ need for her.

It was a losing battle. He knew damn well that it was. He knew it from the very first moment he was attracted to her.

Because no matter how many times he breathed in her scent, no matter how much time he’d spent with her, or how many moments and jokes they’d shared, one thing remained a fact:

He still couldn’t fucking get enough of her.

Every breath he took only made him want _more_ of her; more, more, more, more, more and _MORE._

So much more than he knew she could give him.

Her heart.

 _That,_ was what he truly wanted.

Steve wanted Natasha Romanoff’s heart.

But it was impossible.

Her heart was something he could never have.

It was something he knew she couldn’t possibly give him.

Because she’d already given it to another man.

At least he still had her scent. And that was good enough for him, at least for now, in this moment, when she was standing at his door right in front of him, looking ravishingly bodacious in her kickass, all-black leather attire.

Yes. Her scent.

Her scent was enough.

It was enough for now.

Enough for him to know that she was okay.

She was here.

She was safe.

 

* * *

 

The supersoldier’s thoracic cavity expanded to its utmost extremity as he shamelessly gulped down a big lungful of Natasha-Romanoff-flavored air, like as if it was the first breath he’d taken in days.

And he was thus rewarded with a sensation akin to having the taste of paradise right at the tip of his tongue.

It was perfection.

It was tantalizing. It was heady. Electrifying. And arousing.

Downright _titillating._

And, apparently, it was also all it took to transform the usually charismatic Captain America into a blabbering imbecile.

“Nat? Natasha? Is that… is that… really you?” Steve blurted out.

Did he just-

Oh God. He did _not_ just stutter.

He. Did. Not.

Ugh! Curse him and that stupid, stupid, stupid, moronic, idiotic, imbecilic mouth of his!

And what the heck was it that he’d said again?

_‘Is that really you?’_

Seriously?

Natasha fucking Romanoff was standing in front of him, and _THAT_ shit was all he could come up with?

Good Lord. He really wanted to kill himself. _Of course it’s her, you fucking moron!_

Why couldn’t he say something suave like, _‘Hey, Natasha. Did you miss me, gorgeous? Cause I sure missed you. Oh no, your lips seem a little dry and chapped, why don’t I wet them for you?’_ and then end the greeting with a searing kiss _right_ on the lips.

Hell, fuck the suaveness, he could’ve just said something normal like, _‘Hi, Nat. It’s so good to see you. Are you okay?’_ Yeah, seriously, how hard could that be, right?

But no.

No.

Apparently, Steve Rogers didn’t do _normal_ or _suave_ when it came to the dames’ department. He just _had_ to go with his long time MO during moments like this: acting like an absolute _imbecile._

 _'Is that really you?’_ Pfft. God. Someone please just shoot him dead already. Take him to the gallows. Feed his flesh to the crows, or to the goddamn vultures. Whichever that works. He didn’t deserve to live after that display of utter stupidity.  

Steve had noticed the playful quirk on the redhead’s mouth even before the silliness of his own words fully registered in his mind. That endearing smirk on her mouth just moments ago was now curved slightly to one side, thus revealing that super adorable dimple on her right cheek; the same dimple whose hollow he’d always dreamt of placing his fingers or the tip of his tongue in.

Right at the moment when their eyes met and when she made a quick lift of her chin, Steve just somehow _knew_ that she was gonna start teasing him about that retarded salutation which came out of his mouth seconds ago.

“T’Challa did mention about the broken ribs…” she paused a little, glancing down at Steve’s torso before returning her gaze to his face, Steve could see the emerald brand of mischief which her eyes abundantly held right then as she teased, “…but he didn’t say anything about a head injury…”

Just like that, something in Steve clicked.

And he chuckled heartily.  

That piece of mismatched jigsaw of his life he’d mentioned before? The one that just wouldn’t fit no matter what he did? Yeah, it’d now fallen into place. CLICK. Just like that.

It was the first time in _days_ that he’d felt this alive. And it was all because of her.

The spy’s visage took another form.

This time she feigned a gasp of panic and a look of concern as she placed her hand on his arm, “Oh no, Steve, it’s not your dementia acting up again, is it? Because… you know, I kinda left all your Razadyne pills back at the compound…”

Oh yeah, that did it.

That really did it for him.

A cackle (which sounded suspiciously close to those made by big fat mother hens) erupted from his mouth before he could stop himself. And the expression of shock and disbelief on his face from the moment he opened the door transformed into a megawatt smile, pronto.

“That’s hilarious, Nat.” he said in between laughter.  

And oh, by the way, there was absolutely no doubt now that he had made a complete fool of himself. It was all out in the open now, considering the way she was so mercilessly teasing him. Pfft, if only he gave a damn. Heck, he could be standing buck naked in front of her right now and he wouldn’t give so much as a rat’s ass. As long as she was okay, as long as she was safe, nothing else mattered to him. As long as he knew that she was safe.   

The spy smiled a little.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it, Nat?”

“Is this how you treat a girl back in 1945? Make her stand waiting out in front of your door? I mean, I know you’re old, but surely not _that_ old to forget all your manners…”

Another chortle burst out of his mouth.

“Oh, I’ve _missed_ you too, Nat.”

Yeah…How could he ever forget the sass? It was one of the ‘qualities’ which he found so goddamn endearing in her. Jesus, barely a minute had passed, and she had already gotten his ass thoroughly sassed. And she hadn’t even stepped through the door yet, for goodness’ sake. Guess that’s the thing about them ASSASSINS. They always know how to get _A SASS IN_ , whenever and wherever. Sexy as _hell_ , in Steve’s opinion. Well, okay, maybe not _all_ assassins, perhaps just _one_ assassin (who also happened to be a redhead) in particular because Steve really, _really_ had no plans in making any sort of comment about Clint’s sexiness anytime soon. Yikes.          

Clearing his throat twice, Steve finally tore his gaze away from her face and held the door wider for her. And then with a little come-in gesture, he stepped aside from the doorway to make room for her entrance.

 

* * *

 

By the time Steve turned back to face the suite after closing the door and slipping the security chain back in place, Natasha was standing quite some distance away from him. She was standing beside the kitchen counter – where he sat writing his two letters just moments ago before her pleasant intrusion. A black duffle bag sat on top of one of the tall stools, he noticed.

Unable to move, Steve leaned his back tentatively against the front door.

He felt edgy all of a sudden. There were just so many things he’d wanted to say that he just didn’t know how to begin.

The spy shifted a little before she dared to look up into the soldier’s eyes. It was a wonder how quickly the mood had changed from fun teasing to pure tension.   

For a moment, neither spoke.

They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, _hesitating_ , trying to find the right things to say to each other. That was the irony in human communications, he supposed. When two people are apart, they could always plan, think, and conjure up truckloads of things to say to each other with flawless precision. But when finally standing in front of each other, face to face, no words would come out. Well, as it seemed, the exact same thing was happening to Captain America and the Black Widow right then.

Guess it happens even to the best of humankind.

“Nat I-”  “Steve I-” Their voices rang out in unison.  

Both of their eyes widened, his in surprise; hers in glee, and perhaps a tad bit amusement.

Their gazes remained glued to each other’s for what felt like an eternity. The tension in the room was now palpable. So taut was the tension that they both found it suffocating and difficult to breath. In the end, they both chose to stop breathing altogether and just hold their breaths in their lungs. The air was supercharged. And the space was quiet, deafening. Both of them seemed to be waiting for that proverbial ‘needle’ to drop, or just _something,_ anything to break the silence. Neither of them released the breaths they were holding.

And then the next second was when the magic truly happened.

They both began chuckling. Simultaneously. Synchronously.

And thereupon, the supercharged air sprung to life.  

Sparks flew, dancing about the air, instantly kindling the Soldier’s barely-concealed passions for the Spy.  

Breaths were released, first in small huffs, and then in substantial effluxes.

Chuckles evolved into full-blown laughter.

Their joint laughter soon took away their capacity to hold eye contact. Both the soldier and the spy tore their gazes away from each other, their arms clutching hard at their stomachs as their diaphragms flexed in sporadic and uncontrollable pulses.

The sounds of their laughter soon pervaded the entire suite, in unison, in harmony. Deep masculine vocals stirred the air, _entwining_ beautifully with Natasha’s sultry feminine tones, forming a taut cord. A cord which bound _them_ , the Soldier and the Spy, together. A cord that betokened a bond. A strong bond. A _chemical_ bond that was the fruit of their formidable chemistry.

And immediately, the Soldier could already begin to feel the weight on his shoulders seeping away, like as if a weight pack was suddenly unclipped from his back.

He felt instant relief. Instant gratification.

A euphoria.

Paradise.

It was a beautiful moment.   

Because this was _them_.

This was the _essence_ of their relationship.

This was _their bond._

This was Steve and Natasha.

Captain America and the Black Widow.

The Soldier and The Spy.

And their joint laughter? That was music, a song; a symphony of the chemistry that they shared with one another.

It was relieving, and cathartic.

Truly a wonderful sight to behold.

He missed this.   

Boy, did Steve ever miss this like fuck.  

Missed _them._

Missed how they complemented each other so well.

Missed how they clicked with each other like the most unique lock and key combination in the entire universe.

Missed their inexplicable but welcomed _chemistry,_ their spark. 

Missed how they worked so perfectly with each other like a well-oiled machine capable of perpetual motion; so in sync, and so flawless.

He missed her. Period.

The brief euphoria ended when the laughter slowly subsided.

He swiped his eyes with the back of his hand and filled his lungs with a big gulp of air.   

He saw her lips move.

“Steve, I…uhh, I’m-”

But Steve held up his hand and interrupted her before she could finish. The look he gave her then was one of pure relief, bliss, and dare he say, _love_?

“Nat…just shut up and come here?” Steve half-pleaded with his arms held wide open at his sides.

When Natasha’s feet remained un-movingly planted on the ground, Steve rolled his eyes and closed the distance between them in quick strides. His hands clasped the top of her shoulders the moment she was within reach, causing her to quickly peer up at him. There were hints of uncertainty, and of surprise in her eyes at first, like as if she was unsure (or perhaps _afraid_ ) of what _he_ was gonna do. But, when her expression slowly softened, Steve did the thing which he had been dying to do for days.

He pulled her shoulders towards him, crashed her petite form onto his chest, and buried his face into her beautiful red locks, into her welcoming, bliss-inducing scent.

_God, I miss you. I love you. I miss you. I love you. I miss you. I love you. I miss you. I love you. I miss you._

He chanted those words repeatedly in his head like an unending mantra.

None of those words actually formed on his mouth.

Because right at that moment, no words were needed.

 

* * *

 

This time, he could tell that she really was taken by surprise, because an audible gasp (which he thought was rather cute and un _Widow-ish_  )escaped her lips the moment their bodies came into contact. He didn’t call her out on it though. He just wanted to savor the moment and be as close to her as possible. He just wanted her by his side. He just wanted to hold her in his arms, warm, safe, and protected. Everything else be damned.

“God, Nat. I’m so glad to see you… I was so worried about you…”

Steve sneakily inhaled another lungful of her all-too-familiar scent. Floral, with hints of jasmine and rose, and perhaps a whiff of gardenia too. Just her scent alone could enkindle a sense of overwhelming bliss, straight from within his core; bliss, which he would gladly savor for all of eternity. Though, he did manage to notice that her hair smelled differently than usual. Well, _different_ , but still so damn good. Because it was _hers._

He could almost feel her smirk forming on his chest. Although he couldn’t see it, Steve knew that the smirk was coming, and then some wisecrack or quip would be next in the line.

And he was damn right.

“You senior citizens might wanna cut-back on all the worrying ‘cause I hear that it’s super bad for the heart. Plus, I really don’t think your geriatric card works here if you end up needing an ECG or something.”

A chuckle erupted from his chest. Boy, he would never get tired of her old-man jokes. Never. In fact, he even wished that he could hear them for the rest of his life.

“Then next time, don’t go missing on me again.” Steve quipped back.

“Easy now, soldier. A girl can take care of herself you know…” she added quickly with that teasing voice of hers which he loved so much.

He felt her arms slowly snake their way up his back and settled right on top of his shoulder blades. It took every ounce of his self-control to suppress the shivers roused by the contact.   

On impulse, Steve ran his hand through her red hair and stroked, tenderly. Lovingly.

“Doesn’t mean that I’d stop worrying, okay? You know that I’ll always worry about you, Nat.” Steve pulled his head back and looked straight into her light-green orbs. _Because I love you._ He _very_ nearly blurted out.

“Ditto, Steve. Ditto.”

For a moment, Steve could have sworn that he saw something flickered in her eyes. Was it longing? Happiness? Relief? But before he could work out what it was, Natasha broke their eye contact and turned her head aside. She then removed her hands from his back and let her hand drop to her sides. Steve did the exact opposite. He wrapped his arms tighter around her body, trying to prolong their embrace.

Her hands slipped up his chest.

The flutters took over his heart instantly. His face grew warm at her touch, and for a split second, he almost considered giving her a kiss on her cheek or on her forehead, just because the moment felt so darned right to him.

That blissful sensation, as it turned out, was short-lived.

Because he soon felt a light shove on his chest.

Oh. _Oh._

She wanted the hug to end. That was why her hands were on his chest…

 _Right._  

A stab of hurt pierced through his heart.

Steve quickly pushed the hurt away, and schooled his features.

_Way to go, you jerk. Now you’ve made her uncomfortable. Real suave, Rogers. Real suave._

Steve cleared his throat once and released her (reluctantly) from his bear hug.

 

*     *     * 

 

When they were once again outside each other’s personal space, Steve asked, “Are you okay? What were you doing all these time? And where have you been?” The worried look was back on Steve’s face again.

Her right eyebrow quirked at the same time she canted her head.

“Well, I was tracking down this piece of _rare_ and _old_ fossil…… But I think most people would call it _archaeology._ ” Natasha teased.

Steve chuckled, “Yeah, very funny, Nat. Now tell me what I wanna hear.”

“What? Isn’t that what you wanna hear? That I was at this excavation site…digging… and shoveling…” Natasha resumed her teasing.

Steve was torn between amusement and frustration.

The latter won out.  

Steve sighed, “Nat... please.”

From the look of resignation and exhaustion on Steve’s face, Natasha knew that he was done playing games.

“Relax Steve. I’m fine, really. I was doing what I do best, running and hiding. After you and Barnes left the airport, I went back to the compound to pack a bag. And then I went to hide in Clint’s farm until help arrived.”

“Help?”

“Coulson. I needed his help to track you down.”

Steve’s brows shot up, as if he suddenly remembered something.

“Yeah… come to think of, Nat, how _did_ you know that you can find me here?”

Natasha smirked.

“Ah, okay, I see, you must’ve contacted T’Challa…that’s how you knew…” Steve stared pointedly at the spy.

“I did contact T’Challa… but only when I was about to enter Wakandan airspace…”

“Wait, what? So you mean you already knew that I’m here before you even contacted T’Challa?” Steve said, his lips slightly apart from shock.

“Mmm-hmm…”

“But how?”

Natasha’s smirk widened.     

“You’re getting slow in your old age, Rogers.” said the spy slyly.

Steve smiled good-naturedly, “Well, it’s been a long couple of days.”

The spy threw him a noncommittal shrug, but the smirk still very much plastered on her face.

“Well?” Steve prodded.

Without saying another word, Natasha pushed herself off the kitchen counter, turned on her heels and headed towards the luxurious loveseat couch at the suite’s parlor.

Steve watched her form for a good five seconds before he went after her.

“Wait, you’re really not gonna tell me?”

Natasha plopped down on one of the fluffy cushions, crossed her legs, and shot him an innocent look.

“Tell you what?”

Steve stopped in front of the couch and (as stupid as it sounded) used his Captain America glare on her. Pfft, like as if it’d work on _her_. After about 30 seconds of his ineffectual glaring and glowering, he gave up.

“Oh, come on, Nat. Are you really gonna be like this?” Steve whined.

“Why, yes. It’s actually kinda fun, watching the great Captain America grasp at straws. Hey, isn’t there a theme song out there about you? How did it go again? The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan? How about you become the _Straw_ -Spangled Man for a change, huh?” Natasha teased.

Steve rolled his eyes, but merely for effect, because deep down, he was enjoying getting his ass thoroughly sassed by her. And, not to mention getting his balls completely _busted._

“Fine. If you won’t tell me, then I guess I’ll just have to work it out myself.”

The smug spy smirked.

“Sure you can do it, Rogers? I mean you couldn’t even extend a proper greeting not ten minutes ago.” she taunted.

_God. That’s not going away any time soon…_

Never one to back out of a challenge, Steve stood his ground. No way in hell he was gonna back away from a challenge, even if it came from _her._ Pfft. _Especially_ if it came from her.

Steve cleared his throat, “Oh you’re damn right I’m sure, Nat. I’m gonna figure this out.” Steve at least _tried_ to sound confident.

Damn. Where the hell was all his can-do attitude when he needed them?  

The smirk on her face just went from smug to positively _vainglorious._

And God, that wasn’t supposed to turn him on.

It wasn’t supposed to.

But it did.

So sexy.

And saucy and-

Ohh…kay, he might _really_ have to go balls-out on this one.

“Just you wait, Nat. Just you wait.”

“Well I’m not gonna wait around for another 70 years if that’s what you’re suggesting.” she jibed saucily.

Pop. Pop.

Did you folks hear that? Yeah?

 _That,_ was the sound of Steve Rogers’ balls being busted, in case you’re wondering.

The supersoldier shot another glare at the redhead.

All he got in return was a conceited shit-eating grin.

Yep. He lost. Totally.

Downright got his sorry ass wholly handed to him by Miss Saucy over there. That much he knew when he’d failed to contrive a comeback to her last jibe.

Definitely the death of him, this woman. Lord have mercy on him for the rest of the night. 

_Sometimes, I HATE that I love you, Nat._

Steve spoke two seconds later.

“You didn’t track the quinjet I used, did you? I had it on stealth, it’d be impossible to track. Besides, even if you did manage to bypass the stealth and track the quinjet, you’d be in Siberia, not here. Because that was where I left the jet, outside the HYDRA facility.” Steve’s eyes narrowed in thought.

That minx of a spy downright ignored him and continued playing with those perfectly manicured white nails of hers. Steve couldn’t decide whether to be absolutely infuriated or amused with her demeanor. Part of him wanted to be mad at her for keeping him in the dark, but another part of him (okay, _most_ part of him) just found her playful demeanor so goddamn alluring.

_Ugh. Maddening, challenging and infuriating enigma of a woman._

Seriously, the more he thought about it, the more it felt like that Natasha _reveled_ in busting his balls. Was it a general trait of spies? Not that he knew a lot about real-life spies anyway, he always considered himself as more of a soldier than a spy even though he used to work for the world’s leading intelligence agency 2 years ago. But then again, even in SHIELD, he had never once felt like he fit in as a spy. In fact, he mostly felt like he was just a super-janitor or something, taking out the ‘trash’ with his shield _for_ SHIELD. Anyway, part of his meagre knowledge in espionage came from the movies which Natasha had picked out for him. He remembered the most recent one he had seen, around a year ago. It was 007, Spectre. He wouldn’t say that he particular enjoyed the movies or the actions in them (being a supersoldier, he could personally attest to the fact that those actions in the movies couldn’t hold a fucking candle to the actions that he himself had seen throughout his Avenging career). But then again, the movies turned out to be surprisingly informative for a non-spy such as himself, like for instance, he had learnt that spy-missions usually involve planting bugs or tracking–

Steve’s head snapped towards the spy, his eyes as narrow as those kinds of slits where one inserts coins into.

“Wait a minute… Nat. You _planted_ something on me didn’t you?” Steve pointed at the table emphatically.

Natasha finally looked up from her nails and stared at him. Her face betrayed absolutely nothing.

Oh, she has a nice poker face, he’d give her that one.  

But Steve knew better. He knew. Because she wouldn’t even have reacted if he hadn’t somehow hit the right spot.

Steve clapped his hands together loudly, and pointed his index finger at the spy.

“Hah! Oh you _SOOO_ did, Nat. You soo did.”

Natasha finally gave him a genuine smile and a tiny shrug.

“Busted.” she said, a little sheepishly.

Steve’s heart nearly melted at the sight of her right then, her beautiful smile mixed with cockiness and a little sheepishness. Did he ever mention how much he loved seeing her smile? God, how Steve absolutely adored her smile, and even more so when _he_ was the one who had put it there on her face.     

“It’s gotta be somewhere on my uniform…… Where?” Steve asked pointedly.

This time, however, the spy answered with a smug look, “On your left boot.”

“On my-” Steve turned around and stalked into the bedroom before he could finish his sentence.

 

* * *

 

Moments later, Steve walked out from the bedroom, carrying a tracking device the size of a grain of rice.

“I’ve never seen this before. This isn’t part of the standard Avengers issue……” said Steve as he sat down beside Natasha on the couch. He tried to ignore the tingles he’d felt when their thighs rubbed against each other.

“No. These are older models. They used to be standard SHIELD issue a long time ago. In fact, I sort of… designed them, 2 years after I joined SHIELD.”

Steve’s eyes shone in understanding, and his expression softened immediately as he slowly angled his body on the couch to face the spy.

“Right. The Avengers issued ones…Tony had access to the locations. That was why…”

“Not only Tony. The task force, and the bureaucrats, they all have access to the GPS data emitted by those new ones. If I had planted those on you, you’d have been arrested and locked up already.” Natasha explained.

Steve slowly lifted his gaze towards Natasha’s face and held her gaze. Steve _knew_ , that if Natasha had wanted him arrested or captured, she could have done it easily, she had all the means and tools to do it.

But she didn’t.

She had his back instead.

Suddenly, he felt the need to reach out and touch her. So he took a deep breath, reached out, took her hand, and slowly lifted it towards his lips.

His eyes never once left hers as he pressed his lips to the back of her beautiful hand.

It was a bold but _necessary_ gesture. She had his back. Of all things she could’ve done, she chose to have his back instead.

“Thank you, Nat. For everything. For having my back.”

He didn’t release the hand immediately. Instead, he held on to her delicate hand as he continued to stare into her alluring emerald eyes, like as if those eyes held the secret to some sort of cosmic mystery. And at that moment, he knew, that the depths of his feelings for her were all clearly and obviously reflected in his own eyes. But he didn’t care. Right then, he just wanted her to know how much her having his back meant to him. He _needed_ her to know just how much _she_ meant to him.

Natasha threw him a wan smile.

When she spoke next though, it was with a tone so soft and earnest that it made Steve’s heart skipped a good three beats.

“Always, Steve.”

Unconsciously, the pad of his thumb began tracing light circles at the back of her hand.

He thought he’d heard a little sigh escape her mouth, but he couldn’t be sure.

_‘I love you, Nat.’ Say it, Rogers. Say it. Now’s your chance, tell her now. Spit it out._

_Tell her, Rogers. Say it now! Goddamnit, Rogers, say it!_

He could feel the tension between them, strangling and wrangling at his neck. Invisible sparks danced around the space between their faces. The air between them laid thick, and dense. He felt a tug of anticipation at the pit of his stomach, the same one he’d felt during Project Rebirth when he lay on that surgical table.  

All of a sudden, the room felt too cold.

A fleeting image of the ice flashed before his eyes. But it went away almost immediately.

_Come on, Rogers! Inflate your balls. Tell her!_

Natasha averted her gaze almost at the same time as she pulled her hand away from Steve’s palm.

Steve could only watch helplessly as her smooth hands slip away from his grasp, inch by inch.

When she spoke next, her tone was back to teasing again, and Steve knew that their little moment was gone.

“You still haven’t completed the puzzle yet, old man. What, you’re not giving up already, are you?”

The soldier sighed inwardly.

 _Wuss. Coward. Candy-ass._ Steve chided himself.

Steve cleared his throat once and tried to hide the disappointment from his voice, “When? When did you plant the device on me?”

“I could tell you… but then again… where’s the fun in that?”

Steve let out a groan. Okay, fine, he wasn’t really _that_ upset. Deep down, he was rather amused and maybe a little bit happy with their verbal sparring. Because this verbal sparring… it was _them_. It was their ‘thing’.

“Was it back at the compound?”

The spy shook her head tauntingly, and perhaps a tad bit condescendingly, like a mother disappointed in her child.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Like I said, Rogers. _Slow._ ”

Steve ignored the jibe and picked up the small device again. This time, he carefully perused the device.

Amid his scrutiny, Steve noted a singular feature of the tracking device. It was its geometry. The geometry of the device resembled some of the parts on Natasha’s Widow’s Bites.

“Huh.” Steve drawled as a sudden thought registered in his mind. He stood up from the couch and began pacing back and forth in front of said furniture. Several moments later, he stopped his pacing and turned around to face the spy once more.

“The shape of this is device…I’ve seen it somewhere before… Your gauntlets. It’s from your gauntlets isn’t it… it was shot out from your gauntlets… it has to be…”

Another smirk from the spy.

“Try harder, Rogers.”

Only then did the light bulbs flashed in Steve’s head, and everything clicked into place.

“At the hangar… when you tazed T’Challa… it was during that time wasn’t it…”

“Bingo.”

Steve went slack-jawed in a concoction of shock and amazement.

“But you managed to plant it on me without me even noticing… That’s…impressive.”

Natasha shrugged in response, indicating the fact that she probably didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but curiosity got the better of the soldier. He just had to know.

“How did you do it?” he asked, causing Natasha to smile sweetly at him.

“A girl has her ways…” Natasha said elusively, which spurred a chuckle from the soldier.

“Was it shot off at the same time as the electric charge?” Steve questioned, clearly not wanting to give up until he had known her trick.  

“No. It was after. The first shot was aimed at T’Challa. It made you turned your head so…”

Steve nodded in recognition, “And then you fired the second shot onto my boot when I was looking behind me. Right. Very well played.”

The spy raised her shoulders again in nonchalance.

Natasha shifted on the cushions and relaxed herself against the backrest while the soldier’s mind worked.

Steve shook his head in amazement as he began putting the pieces together.

“You planned this even before Bucky and I ran into the hangar didn’t you? You knew that T’Challa was after us, after Bucky, to be precise. But wait, back at the hangar, you could’ve told me from the start that you were planning to let Bucky and I go, but you didn’t… why?”

“What happened to figuring it all out on your own?” the spy goaded.

Steve thought for a moment before he made the connection.

Steve dropped his gaze onto his lap and sighed, “Right. Of _course_ …”

“Took you long enough, Rogers. 2 minutes and 49 seconds.”

Steve let out a laugh of pure amazement as he slowly put together how she did it, “You _wanted_ me to believe that you’d fire at _me_ …… _THAT_ was why you never told us about your plan to let us go at the beginning. You wanted the first shot from your gauntlets to take me by surprise…  So you stalled us until T’Challa’s arrival, only then you fired the first shot at T’Challa, which would guarantee to surprise me because I’d expect you to shoot _at_ me. Then I’d turn my head in surprise. And you would then sneakily plant the device on me when I was looking behind. _Brilliant_. You’re really the smartest woman I know, Nat.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Captain.” said the spy playfully.

“Well, what can I say? I’d give credit when it’s due.” Steve grinned at the spy and shook his head, “That was one hell of a stunt you pulled there. You’ve bested all of us with just one simple move. You’re amazing, you know that, Nat?”

It took Natasha every ounce of her training to hide the blush roused by Steve’s compliment.

“Uhh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Feeling slightly uncomfortable at Steve’s intense stare, Natasha rose from the couch and walked over to the sliding doors which separated the suite’s living area and its ginormous balcony.

Steve’s eyes followed her every movement. When she stopped in front of the transparent door and stared into the darkness beyond it, Steve strode over and joined her at her side. He tried to ignore the electricity coursing through his body when the back of his hand brushed slightly against hers, focusing instead on the fact that she was _there_ , with _him_ , _beside_ him.

For a moment, Steve actually felt a little bit light headed, but he brushed it off as due to his hunger. He should eat something, he really should. But, honestly? Standing beside her like this felt so good. Her scent was strong, and he could feel the warmth emanating from her body beside him. But nothing could beat the sight of her though. She was simply _stunning_ , even in plain clothes.

God, he could stare at her forever.

Jesus, was he actually swooning? It certainly _felt_ like he was swooning. Perhaps he really was swooning a little.  

Okay, maybe he really should go grab that snack bar, _now_.

But maybe just a couple of seconds longer…or maybe a couple more minutes…

Hell, screw it, he ain’t movin’ nowhere.

Steve was enjoying the comfortable silence between them when all of a sudden, he felt Natasha nudging his side with her elbow.

“Sorry I had to plant them on you, though. In hindsight, I think the better idea was to just go along with you to Siberia in the first place.”

He didn’t know what came over him, but Steve found himself balking at the idea, _vehemently._

“NO…!! You… uh, definitely shouldn’t have come along with me to Siberia.” Steve croaked out, perhaps a tad bit too quickly.

Steve shuddered at the thought of Natasha getting caught in the middle of the brawl between him and Tony. _Oh, HELL no._

With the way Tony was fighting, he wasn’t sure if Natasha would get out of the fight unharmed. But then again, wasn’t every mission the same? Every time they were out Avenging, there was always the risk that the mission would be their last. At the thought, Steve palpitated. It would absolutely crush him if he lost her. But then again it would probably suck too if _he_ was killed in action without ever telling her how he felt about her.

_That’s it, Rogers. No more holding back. If you can’t tell her, then you can act on it. Come on, Rogers!_

He took a deep breath and recovered, “What I mean is, no. I wouldn’t have wanted you to come with me even if it happened all over again. And I’m glad that things turn out this way. That you planted those tracking devices on me…and found me here…”

Both of them turned towards each other at the same time.

The look on Natasha’s face was that of confusion.

“Why?”

Steve had no idea what happened next, but the next thing he knew, his feet were moving on their own, and the words poured out of his mouth as if his mouth has its own brain, “Because then I wouldn’t be able to do this…”

He crashed his lips onto hers.

Her mouth opened in a surprised gasp, which seemed to increase his confidence substantially to the point that he brought his tongue into the game. Boldly, his tongue stretched beyond the boundaries defined by her lips; tasting, exploring, and savoring _everything_ in its path before it finally tangled itself with her tongue.

He halfway expected to suddenly feel his manhood being yanked off his crotch, or to end up on the floor with her thighs wrapped around his neck (in a non-sexual, combat-related sort of way, obviously) but well, surprisingly, it didn’t happen.

He thought of pulling away, then maybe fumble out an apology or two. Heck, he could even blame it on his low blood sugar and pretend that it all didn’t happen.

Well, he almost did.

Almost.

He didn’t.

Because the spy kissed him back.

All hell broke loose.

His arms travelled upwards automatically and framed her face as his tongue continue to wrestle with hers. As impressed as he was with their tongue wrestling, Steve realized that just having their lips and tongues touching wasn’t nearly enough anymore. So he dropped his hands from her face onto her waist and spun her around against the sliding door.

Her back collided with the glass door so hard that the vibrations could be felt even 2 seconds after the contact was made. Heck, he thought he might have even cracked the goddamn glass a little but he didn’t give a single damn, and he had a feeling that the spy didn’t either.

A long and silky saliva bridge connected their lips as he pulled away to look into her eyes and seek her confirmation; the final confirmation that she, too, wanted this to go any further.

The darkening of her green eyes was the only indication he needed to start pushing her leather jacket off her shoulders. The saliva bridge collapsed when their lips joined together once more.

Both of his hands, which had been resting on her waist during this whole time, begged to be taken off the sidelines and to join the action. His right hand traveled along the circumference of her waist towards the front of her pants, pausing and hovering over the button.

With a skillful flick of his index finger and thumb, the garment was unbuttoned and the zipper undone.

At the same time, the soldier’s mouth traveled down the column of her elegant neck, assaulting every inch of skin in its path.

Before he even realized it, his right hand slipped past the waistband of her pants and underwear, ready to infiltrate the most intimate part of her body. A few milliseconds later, it did, and an unstifled moan burst through the confines of her beautiful lips.

Then his fingers started moving against her, eliciting the most beautiful sounds he swear he had ever heard coming out from a woman’s mouth. And this time, it was _his_ name at the tip of her tongue, not another man’s.

“Steve…”

“Steve….”

“STEVE!”

He felt a violent shake on his arm.

“Wha…what?”

For a moment, he actually felt the room spinning a little.

He shook his head twice, and hard.

He was still standing beside her, in front of the glass door. But something was wrong. _Very_ wrong. Something was different.

Because Steve realized all of a sudden that they were still standing half a meter apart from each other, and that her leather jacket was still draped over her shoulders.

And the room was quiet. Too quiet.

Nobody was moaning anybody’s name.

He stared at Natasha’s face. And was dismayed to find that her face wasn’t contorted in ecstasy like he’d previously thought it was. Instead, her face was scrunched up with concern and worry.

 _Oh shit. You’ve gotta be kidding me._ Steve cursed under his breath as he finally realized just what had happened. 

“Steve, are you okay?” she asked.

It was a fucking hallucination.

It was all his wishful thinking, every goddamn second of it.

With much vehemence, Steve shook off the last vestiges of his sexual fantasy. But damn, it all just seemed so fucking _real_. So real that he’d swear that he could still ‘feel’ her slick arousal on his fingers as they slipped in and out between her wet folds, and as they rubbed against her cli–

But whatever, it had all been in his mind, a petty fantasy, like the ones that undoubtedly occupied the dreams of most teenagers. Petty, and pathetic.

 _Pathetic, Rogers. You’re fucking pathetic._      

Damn. He really should’ve taken the energy bar when he had the chance _._

“Steve?” she asked again when he didn’t answer.

Steve shook his head, “Yeah. I’m okay. Why? What’s wrong?”

The concern on her face morphed into a look of pure incredulity which could be readily dubbed as: really? You’re seriously asking _me_ that?

But much to Steve’s surprise, there was no quip from of her this time.

Instead, her voice was filled with concern when she spoke next.

“Nothing. It’s just… you kinda zoned out for a while there. Like you were somewhere else entirely. You sure you’re alright? This isn’t like you, Steve.”

_Oh, I assure you, Nat, I wasn’t elsewhere. We were both right here. We were standing right where we are, just doing things with our mouths that don’t involve much talking._

Steve brushed it off with a wave of his hand, “I’m fine, Nat. I was just…..thinking about…. _stuff._ ”

Steve nearly snorted at how lame that sounded.

_Yeah… ‘stuff’ is right._

The teasing smirk was back on her face once again.

This time, she did joke, “Why? What happened there? Another trip to the Smithsonian?”

Steve chuckled, “Hilarious.”

“Or wait, is it past your bed time already? An old man needs his beauty sleep, I suppose. I don’t really mind if you need to grab a quick shut-eye, I mean, you were pretty much napping in a standing position just a few minutes ago.”

Steve burst out laughing. God, her old-man jokes really did come with infinitely many variations.

“You know, Nat. You really have a funny way of showing your concerns. I’m touched.” he deadpanned.

“And _you_ have an _annoying_ way of avoiding my questions.” she quipped back.

Steve couldn’t help but feel the edges of his lips curl up.

“It’s no big deal, Nat. It’s hypoglycemia. I tend to have uh… hallucinations, when my blood glucose drops below optimal level. It happens.” Steve gave her a non-committal shrug.

Natasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “T’Challa told me you had dinner with him. And aren’t _royal_ dinners supposed to be big and heavy?”

“It was. It’s just the serum. I need to eat a lot to sustain my metabolism. And even more so when my body is rapidly healing from wounds.”

“Then good thing I can help you with that.” The redhead strode over towards her duffel bag, and gestured for the soldier towards the kitchen counter.

 

* * *

 

They were seated face to face, but this time, at the kitchen counter. They had just finished a generous serving of pancakes which Natasha had procured from her duffel bag.

“Brought this over from the farm. Laura made this for breakfast.” Natasha had told him when he had asked her about the origin of the pancakes. Steve had then heated the food with the microwave oven and had the heated pancakes served out on two plates for the both of them.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, not knowing what to talk about. To Steve, it felt like there were lots of things he wanted to say to her, but he just didn’t know where to begin.

“What happened while I was…you know…” Steve shrugged, “… hallucinating.” Steve broke the silence eventually.

“Actually, I was hoping you'd tell me that…”Natasha threw a pointed look at Steve, “Because one moment, I was talking about how I should’ve gone with you to Siberia, then the next moment you were going all hullabaloo on me and rambling off things like how I _shouldn’t_ have gone along with you. And when I asked you why, you totally zoned out on me. Your eyes were unfocused, and no matter how hard I tried to shake you out of it, you wouldn’t budge.”

“Right. Sorry, Nat. Should’ve taken a snack bar or something.”

“I was _this_ close to slapping you.” she teased.

“Gee, what stopped you from doing just that, huh? Don’t tell me it’s my age, because most people don’t stop shooting guns at me just because I’m a senior citizen. Else you can imagine how much easier my Avenging career would be.” Steve deadpanned.

The spy huffed out a laugh.

“Well, I don’t know… you just seemed… you seemed to be in a really good place. Whatever that had you whisked off into fantasy land must be doing a fantastic job, because you had this…blissful, and slacked look on your face….like as if you were in paradise." A smirk formed on Natasha's face as she leveled a pointed look at Steve, "Must be _some_ hallucination.”

_Oh you have no idea, Nat. NO. IDEA._

Steve quickly cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s not so bad…” Steve felt the crimson crawling up his cheeks again, the burning on his face felt so intense that he could have sworn that steam was coming off the top of his head.

“Care to share with the class?” that teasing smirk was there on her angelic face again.

“Trust me, Nat. You _don’t_ wanna know.”

“Wow. Keeping things from me now, huh? Oh come on, you can tell me. I’m a big girl… so I’m pretty sure I can take it, whatever it is.”

_Yeah, only if it doesn’t involve me ravishing you against a glass door._

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nat.” Steve sighed.

“Come on… Humor me. And I’ll even promise you that I’d keep this between us if it’s some dirty secret of yours.” the spy coaxed with that ultra-hyper-super-duper sexy voice of hers.

_Or how ‘bout I just show you, right here, right now? But that’s probably a terrible idea._

Steve exhaled lengthily.

“Nat… Please. I’ll tell you, just…not today okay? I’m not…it’s not…it’s not something I’m ready to talk about just yet. But I’ll tell you soon, when I’m ready. And when the time comes, you’ll be the first person I tell it to, I promise.” Steve stated firmly.

 _The first, and probably the ONLY person to know. And if you didn’t kill me after I tell you, I’d also like a chance to put actions into my words, thank you very much._  

Natasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but seemed satisfied with his answer, much to Steve’s relief. On second thought, perhaps it wasn’t his answer, per se, that she was satisfied with, but instead, it was probably the _promise_ of an answer that had gotten him off the hook this time.

“Okay. It’s your promise. And there _will_ be consequences if you don’t keep it.”

“Thank you, Nat. For understanding” Steve held her gaze, his own eyes shone with humor next, “and for bringing supper too. But I guess now I’ll have to clean up all these.” He gestured over the kitchen counter.

The spy scoffed, “Seriously? You wanna be a clean freak? Now? And in a nation which probably had the best housekeeping services in the entire universe despite all its anti-tourism policies?”

Steve chuckled, “Yep. Sorry. Old habits. Couldn’t shake it. Why don’t you go sit on the couch, and I’ll bring out some drinks after I’m done. Then we’ll…talk some more.” Steve hesitated at the end.

Natasha stared at him for a couple of seconds before huffing out a breath in resignation.

“Only if it’s vodka.”

Then the redhead turned around and headed for the loveseat couch.

_Vodka it is then. Anything for you, Nat. Anything._

Steve risked a glance at her direction………and regretted it almost immediately.

Because that firecracker of a woman was _slowly_ sliding her black leather jacket off her body as she sauntered to the couch with perhaps _too much_ sway of her hips.

His enhanced hearing had even caught her muttering something under her breath in Russian while she was performing her little strip-tease; something along the lines of stubborn old men with the audacity to hide things from _her_.

Hot. Damn.

All of a sudden, he regretted not changing into his elastic workout pants before he answered the door, because right then, he really felt as though he was about to put a hole through the crotch of his expensive dress pants.

Yeah… he was right all along.

Natasha Romanoff was going to be the absolute _death_ of him.

Funny how HYDRA had been trying to kill him for more than 7 decades to no avail, and yet here came this one woman who had the capability to accomplish that very same task in perhaps just under a few seconds.

The Universe and its ever funny ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go guys. 
> 
> Gosh. I'm gonna be honest here. I was really nervous about posting this chapter. I just had this... bad feeling that it wasn't gonna be as good as everybody hoped. I mean, yes, I've dragged the plot for 12 chapters before Steve and Nat reunite with each other, but that was all the more reason for it to be super-duper- awesome good at the chapter where they reunite. I've read through this chapter again and again before I posted it, edited a few things, but had made no major plot changes. Somehow, my mind just couldn't come up with something super creative like what I felt I had done with the previous chapters. 
> 
> If I really did disappoint you guys, then I am truly sorry. Rest assured that I have already tried my best. 
> 
> Please let me know what you guys think of this chapter in the comments below. Please don't hesitate to comment, because your feedback will provide me with valuable insights. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> Isaiah.


	14. Tirades

_“Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.” – William Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing._

 

* * *

 

“Steve...”

One mention of his name from her mouth was all it took to transform the ambience of the suite entirely.

The soldier faltered in his sip of vodka and shifted in his seat. His eyes carefully levelled at his drinking companion, studying her, scrutinizing her, scanning for any cues of distress. Because even _he_ could tell that something was wrong from the tone she’d use when saying his name.

The redhead sat silently beside him on that ridiculously large loveseat couch, nursing her own serving of vodka, _straight_ out of the bottle.

The entire suite was hushed and still.

Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of her fingernails against the vodka bottle in her hand.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

A consistent and monotonous rhythm. Almost like a clock ticking, counting down to some sort of catastrophe. It felt as though a storm was coming, or as though a tsunami tidal wave was about to hit.

That deafening stillness, that _calm_ before the storm, it unnerved him to the hilt.

Steve watched her elegant fingers worked away at the rhythm. Every click of her white nails against the glass wrecked his nerves a little bit, making him jumpy.

He brought his attention back to her face.

Her face betrayed absolutely nothing.

Neither did her eyes.

Her mouth was formed into a tight line.

Her overall exterior was calm and placid.

Her breathing was slow and even.

Her hands weren’t clenched into fists, but were very much relaxed, with her fingers still wrapped loosely around the neck of the vodka bottle.

Outwardly, she seemed every bit like the sophisticated woman that she was, unruffled and unperturbed by anything in her surroundings. Just a beautiful woman who’d had a long day and wished to enjoy some good alcohol in the company of a friend.

But there was something in her voice before that screamed distress; something in the way she uttered his name that screamed trouble.

And even greater a warning sign was the fact that she hadn’t said a single word ever since she uttered his name. She was usually forthcoming to the point of bluntness. So the fact that she was hesitating in her words was, in itself, a herald of trouble.  

Something was definitely wrong.  

Steve eyed cautiously as Natasha took another long gulp from the bottle.

“What is it, Nat?”

The spy slowly placed the bottle back onto the coffee table.

Their eyes met.

There were no teasing glints in her eyes, no smirk on her lips, no quirks in her brow. Nor were there any signs of that cute dimple on her cheek.

Her countenance appeared dead serious.   

And Steve knew right then that the time for jokes and quips was up.

This was interrogative Black Widow.

The Black Widow wanted answers. And from the looks of it, he was pretty damn sure he was about to experience the most intense interrogation session in his life _._

“Before you hallucinated, you said you wouldn’t want me to go along with you to Siberia... And you were quite adamant about it too." A pause. And a downright bone chilling stare from the spy, "Why?”

Now her tone sounded… _defensive_. Was she upset by what he said?

Did his words offend her somehow?

Okay, in hindsight, perhaps he could have put things a little bit more _delicately_ compared to what he had said before… what was it again that he’d said?

Right. He had told her that she definitely _shouldn’t_ have come to Siberia with him _and_ that he _wouldn’t_ have asked her to come with him even if everything were to happen all over again.

And when she asked him for a reason why, he had totally zoned out on her… which… was probably why she was asking him about it now.

She wanted answers.

And hell, his words must’ve offended her.

 _Why wouldn’t she, you idiot. You’ve made it sound like you were undermining her capabilities you stupid asshole._ Steve thought.

His face paled immediately at the realization.

A realization which, unfortunately, came too little too late.  

_Oh…balls._

He was such a fucking imbecile.      

Steve exhaled heavily. And the rocks glass he was holding in his hands soon joined Natasha’s vodka bottle on the table.

“Nat, please don’t take this the wrong wa-”

Her sharp voice cut him off.

“Oh _cut the crap_ , Rogers. I know that you and Tony had been beating the shit out of each other in Siberia.”

The soldier flinched, risking a quick glance at her only to catch a glimpse of a very, _very unhappy_ Black Widow staring back at him. Apparently, he had some serious explaining task ahead for the night, and from the looks of it, probably a decent amount of groveling too.

Resigned, Steve turned away from her and leaned forward in the couch. His elbows came to rest on his knees.   

“Yes… Tony and I, we fought each other in Siberia. And I wouldn’t want you to get in the middle of that fight, Nat. Not if I have a choice.” said Steve.

 _I don’t want you getting hurt._ Steve had left that part out in fear of giving her any wrong ideas about him seeing her as being incapable of protecting herself and whatnot.

“Oh, so you think that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself if I was there, is that it?” Her voice cut through the thick air like a vibranium scalpel.

So much for not giving any wrong ideas.

“No, Nat. That’s not what I-”

“Oh, I think that’s exactly what you meant, _Captain_.” she snapped.

Steve flinched at the use of his rank title. She hadn't called him that since the Battle of New York.

Steve swallowed. 

“You don’t trust me enough to have your back. You think that by being there, I will only hinder you…”

“NO! Nat. That’s not what it is, if you could jus-”

He was cut off again.

“THEN WHAT IS IT? I am your _partner_ , Steve. And partners trust one another to have each other’s backs. For years we’ve been partners…and now all of a sudden you’re saying that if given another choice back at the hangar, you’d deny a chance for me to be there and watch your back? What the hell’s that supposed to mean, Steve? What, did all your trust in me suddenly just vanished into thin air or something?”

“It’s not about trust, okay? I just didn’t want you getting hurt that’s all…”

Natasha scoffed, “Wow. That _really_ explains how much you trust my abilities to hold my own.”

Steve had about enough.

“Jesus Christ, Natasha. That fight was _BRUTAL_. Tony fought with every intention to kill. Do you really think that I’d put you in harm’s way like that if I’m given the choice?”  

“Gee. Again. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rogers. Your old-age _dementia_ seems to have made you forget the fact that one year ago, I fought, _and survived_ , a battle with an arm _y_ of robot sentries on a _flying_ city.”

Steve stood up from the couch so abruptly that his knees knocked the coffee table a good 2 feet away from where it stood before. He stormed towards the sliding door which overlooked the balcony. He stare out through the glass. The voiding darkness of the night mirrored the dark turmoil in his heart.

His kept his back to her, because he honestly couldn’t bear to see her looking at him like the way she did now, like as though she needed to protect herself and her own heart from _him_ , like as though he was her enemy, like as though she couldn’t let her guard down completely around him.

The cynic in him quickly envisioned what the situation would be like if Bruce was here with her instead of him. He tried envisaging her and Bruce, sitting in that same loveseat couch, the things that they’d be doing, or what her behavior would be like, or how the conversation would go.

Pfft. Conversation? Hah. He honestly doubt that there’d be much actual _conversation_ going on if Bruce was here instead of him. Oh yeah. There won’t be much conversation all right, he could guarantee that. Instead they’d probably be-

A dark thought crossed his mind. A memory. A flashback.

He suddenly remembered that disrespectful comment Stark had made years ago.

_“Romanoff… you and Banner better not be playing hide the Zucchini…”_

Yeah. Playing hide the Zucchini. That’s probably what she’d be doing if Bruce was here with her right now.

Steve stifled a snort at the thought.

But at least she could still be herself around Bruce. At least when she was around Bruce, she wouldn’t feel the desire to hide, or to protect her heart. With Bruce, at least she could be open.

Unlike with _him._  

When Steve spoke next, his tone was resigned and tired.

“Nat. Listen to me. This has nothing to do with abilities or skills, okay? During the fight, Tony had completely lost control of his emotions, because he had found out that Bucky was the one who–”

The spy interjected again.

“Right. Your old buddy old pal Barnes. A dangerous assassin that could be made to turn against you with just a few combinations of words _which_ the psychiatrist had in his possession. Do you know how risky that was? Having Barnes there with you as your _only_ backup? What if the psychiatrist brought out the Winter Soldier again, huh? You ever thought of that!? Oh, wait no, I think you knew that. Because the great Captain America always knows what he’s doing.” Natasha let out a bitter laugh, “You damn well knew the risks of having Barnes there with you. And yet you’d rather have him there instead of me if given the choice. That says _a lot_ about your confidence in me, don’t you think?”

Something in Steve snapped.

Steve turned around from the glass to face the couch, and for the first time, Natasha saw pure anger on his face.

Shivers careened down her spine, and it took every ounce of her training to maintain her poker face.

Instead of backing away, she fired away with increasing tenacity.

“I suppose your _dementia_ also had you forgetting the words which you’d said to me back at Sam’s apartment two years ago, that the _High_ and _Mighty_ Captain America would trust me to save his life when it counts. Guess I was just really naïve to believe that.” she said mockingly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Steve took a step closer to the couch, “After all these years… you still don’t believe that I trust you. No matter how many times I’ve shown you…”

The spy stood up from the couch and took her own step closer to Steve. Her eyes blazing with the flames of tenacity.

“Well, guess what, Rogers. You really have a fantastic way of showing your trust. What? What was I supposed to believe? That there were two of you supersoldiers against one man in a can. 2 versus 1, an advantage, and yet you still think that my presence there would only hold you back.”

Steve’s expression darkened. His own eyes flashed with fury as he took another step closer to Natasha. His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke, “He had FRIDAY. He had his full battle armor. He had his missiles and his goddamn repulsors, Nat. We had a _Frisbee_ and a metal arm. We were outgunned.”

Natasha took another step closer.

“Right. And I bet you think my presence there wouldn’t make a goddamn difference. I bet you think that you’d have one extra damsel in distress to take care of if I was there, an extra _liability_.”

There was a slight hiatus in their yelling match when Steve was completely taken aback by Natasha’s words.

Their breaths mingled dangerously in the small space between them, the venom from each of their previous words mixing and concocting together, forming a poisonous cocktail. Their eyes raged their own war. The tenacious flames of her green eyes battled ferociously with the darkened cerulean blues of his.

Steve let out a growl of frustration.

“Oh for God’s sake, Nat! I never said you’d be a liability! I’m just saying that the risks are too great."

"I knew the goddamn risks the moment I signed up for the job, Rogers!"

"Open your eyes, Nat! He was a walking arsenal powered by an ultra-intelligent computer program! And he shot missiles at us, Nat. Missiles! Do you really expect me to put you through that if I had a choice not to?"

Natasha didn’t flinch. Heck, she barely even blinked.

“And _**I** _ would have messed up his systems with just a few lines of computer code, and prevented you children from beating each other like a bunch of conceited _idiots_.” Her tone equally low and dangerous.

Steve’s eyes widened. He could feel her breath caressing his jaw as she glared up at him with those fiery green eyes.

Steve was speechless.

“So much for your trust, _Captain Rogers._ ” said the spy as the soldier remained in his stupor.

The redhead turned to the couch, picked up her jacket, slid both arms into its sleeves and stormed towards the front door.

 

* * *

 

Steve Rogers wasn’t letting her anywhere near that door. In a feat of superhuman speed, he intercepted Natasha’s path to the door and blocked her using his rock-hard body.

“You wanna talk about trust? _Fine,_ let’s talk about trust.”

The quiver of anger was present in his every word. Every syllable he uttered accentuated his anger and frustration. His tall figure towered over the redhead as he took several steps forward, forcing the spy to retreat several steps back into the living area.

Undeterred by the spy’s protests, Steve advanced forward in huge strides, forcing the redhead further back into the suite. With every sentence that he _growled out_ , Steve took a powerful step forward, and each time, it was accompanied by the clicking of the spy’s boot heels as she was forced back two steps.

“You wanna know how much I trust you? _Fine._ I’ll _tell_ you how much I trust you.”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

“Who did I entrust the task of gathering intel about Bucky to after we took down SHIELD in D.C? _You._ I could’ve asked Fury, or Hill, two people who literally had eyes and ears _everywhere_! But no, I didn’t ask them, I asked _you_ , Nat. _You._ Because I trusted _you_ more than them, I trusted you more than anyone else!”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

“This entire time, when we were leading the new team. The person, the _only_ person, whom I had ever entrusted my shield to, was _you._ And I’ve done that even way before we began co-leading the new team, Nat. Don’t believe me? Okay. You remember last year? Huh? You remember?”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

“When we were up against Ultron in Sokovia, guess who I had entrusted my shield to? _You, Natasha._ It was _you_! I threw my shield to you. _Trusting_ you to be able to handle it well. Did the others have the same privilege? _No_. Only you, Nat. Only you.”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

“While we were leading the New Avengers, did you ever hear me giving out orders to you while we were out in the field? No. Because I trusted your own skills and your own abilities to make the right calls. And while you were giving the orders, not once have I ever questioned you, Nat. Not once. What does that say about trust? A _lot_! Doesn’t it?!”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK! 

“Even from the very first day I met you, on the helicarrier, I had already trusted you! I had trusted your judgement, Natasha. One nod from you. _One!_ One goddamn nod! _From you_! That was _all_ I’d needed to give Clint the okay to be part of our mission against the Chitauri. Despite the fact that he had been brainwashed by the enemy just hours before the battle. Despite the fact that he almost took down the whole darn helicarrier with everyone on it! Yet, I still cleared him for the mission! Only because _you_ said he was good to go and I _trusted_ your judgement!”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

“And you wanna know the biggest thing I’ve entrusted you with so far? Huh? You wanna know just how deep my trust for you runs, _Romanoff_?”

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

THUD!

The spy’s back slammed forcefully into the bedroom door.

“Stev-”

“NO!!! Let me say this! I want you to hear this, whether you like it or not.”

“My past, Natasha. My past. I’ve entrusted you with almost every bit of my past. And not just with the trivial stuff they put up at the Smithsonian, Nat. I’ve shared with you my intimate past, things that I don’t talk about to _anyone_ before. I’d told you almost everything about my life. About Bucky, about my mother and about _Peggy_ too _._ Heck, I was _this_ close to asking you to come help me with my hunt for Bucky 2 years ago. Sam wasn’t even the first one I had in mind as my partner for that mission, Nat. It was _you_! And God, if it weren’t because all your covers were blown, Nat, I would’ve have asked you to come with me, I swear to God.”

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head.

He opened his eyes and exhaled loudly at the same time.

“That story about my mother, and about me almost committing suicide when I was eleven… you’re the second person I’ve told that story to, Nat. I didn’t even tell _Peggy_. Do you even _know_ how personal that story was to me? Until today, only 3 people know that story, Nat. And here you are, doubting the depths of my trust for you. After all these years of me trying to prove it to you.”

Steve let out a bitter chuckle.

Natasha had never ever seen Steve like this before, so riled up, so _not_ in control with his own emotions, so _angry_.

Natasha dropped her head in shame. Tears stung her eyes.

Steve’s right hand found its way onto her left cheek, his thumb settled on the apple of her cheek.

“But what about you, Nat? Do you trust me?”

Natasha lifted her head, and gazed into Steve’s eyes. The light had returned slightly to his baby blues, replacing the shade of stormy darkness from moments ago.

“You know that I do, Steve.” She reached up with her left hand and rested it against the back of his hand that was touching her cheek.

Just like that, the storm returned to Steve’s eyes once again.

Steve _sneered._

“Do you _really_?”

 _What the fuck?_ Natasha thought.

Her own eyes flashed with anger.

With a quick flick of her fingers, his hand that had been resting on her left cheek just a second ago was flung forcefully off her cheek. Said limb dropped and hung limply at Steve’s side.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you _know_ what I meant, Romanoff. You _know._ ” Steve showed no signs of backing off.

The spy’s expressions contorted in anger. And confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

Steve shook his head in disapproval.

“I meant what I said, Romanoff. You don’t trust me…not _fully_!” He spat.

SMACK!!

The supersoldier stumbled back 2 steps when the spy delivered a powerful shove to his chest.

“Don’t you dare!! Don’t you _dare_ say that, Rogers. How could you even think that I don-” 

SLAM!

THUD!

Steve Rogers closed the gap between them once more, slamming his palms against the door, near both sides of her face. His rock solid abs brushed deliciously against her breasts.

“Oh, don’t even, Romanoff. Don’t bother playing the fool. You are the _smartest_ woman I know on the goddamn planet, so you must _know_ , that I wasn’t talking about _that_ type of trust. I wasn’t referring to the trust out in the field, it wasn’t about the trust on the job or the missions either, and you _know_ it. Stop playing dumb.”

“What?”

An exhausted sigh escaped Steve’s lips. He removed his palms from the door and took a step back.

“Thing is... The mission…the job, and your life. That’s about as far as your trust in me runs, Nat. Other than those? You don’t really trust me.”

Natasha’s jaw went slack.

Steve released a humorless chuckle, one that was _brimming_ with rancor and vitriol.  

“Guess I'll have to spell it all out for you, then, huh? Alright." Steve nodded, his lips curved down, "Do you trust me with your past?" He paused, his gaze pierced through Natasha's soul, "Your emotions?" He took a step closer,"Your heart?" The gentle hues of Steve's baby blues were now gone. They were replaced with midnight blues. So _dark_ and  _angry._ "Your **_secrets_?” ** Steve finished after a long pause. 

Natasha shuddered. Shuddered, at the unfamiliarity of it all, at the power contained in those eyes.   

Natasha sighed and shook her head, “What are you implying, Steve?”

Steve paused for a good 5 seconds.

He looked away from the woman in front of him.

“You didn’t tell me.” Steve said, the anger had left his voice, and had been replaced by a sudden sadness and weariness.

“What?”

“Back in Clint’s farm a year ago, while we were hiding from Ultron, I asked you about the vision that Maximoff showed you. You didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, but I told you I wasn’t ready, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, a year has passed, and it turned out that I still didn’t have a single clue as to what you saw back then.”

Natasha looked away.

“You didn’t ask.”

“That’s because I didn’t think that you’d ever be ready to tell me!!!” Steve snapped.

“I-”

But Steve cut her off before she could respond.

“ _Don't_. Don’t bother denying it, Nat. We worked side by side _every_ day for the past year. You've had all the chance to tell me, but you didn’t. Admit it, you were _never_ planning on telling me were you? And if you did trust me enough, you would’ve told me the first time I asked you back at the farm.”

“I _told_ you, Steve. I wasn’t ready back then! God…!” Natasha ran both of her hands through her red locks.

Steve let out a dark and humorless chuckle.

“So you weren’t ready, huh?” Steve paused for a breath, “Alright. Let me ask you this. When you shared a bedroom with Doctor Banner back at the farm. Same time, same place, same day. Same circumstances. Did he ask you about your vision back then?”

Natasha dropped her gaze to her feet. A few strands of red hair fell over her shoulders as a result.

Steve took cue in her silence, “So I guess my assumption’s correct, that he _did_ ask you about your vision that day. Okay.” Steve nodded twice.

“Did you tell him?” Steve asked again.

“Listen, Steve, that was-”

“ _Did_ you tell him?” Steve’s voice was on edge.

“Ste-”

“ _DID_ you…or _DID_ you NOT tell him. Just answer the damn question, Romanoff.”

It took her 4 seconds.

“Yes…” her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve lowered his head in defeat. He didn’t know why he even reacted to her answer. It was stupid and pointless, really, since he pretty much knew the answer already before she even opened her mouth.

“Well, there’s our answer. You trusted Banner with your heart, with your emotions and with your secrets. You trust him enough to let him in completely. That was why you told him straight away. But with me, you didn’t.”

Steve walked around the couch towards the coffee table, and reached for the vodka bottle. At times like these? Not being able to get drunk downright _sucked._

“You’re not being fair here, Steve.” Natasha said as Steve filled up his rocks glass with vodka.

“That’s rich, Nat. As if you’ve been fair with me.” Steve mocked.

It was a low blow. That much he knew, but he was too consumed in his anger right then to stop himself.  

Natasha ignored the jab. 

“You’re speaking as if I never shared anything with you, Steve. And that’s not true, remember that day when you gave me the two sketches?”

Natasha noticed Steve’s anger faltered the moment he registered her words.

“Yeah, of course I remember. I gave those to you because I care about you, Natasha. And I wanted to show you how I see you as a person. I wanted to show you that, to me, in my eyes, you’re a beautiful person, a _good_ person.” Steve placed the vodka bottle back onto the table.

“And you remember afterwards, I spent the night talking and _sharing_ with you in your room? Did you forget that?”

Steve sighed and picked up his rocks glass from the table.

“I remember. You talked a little bit about your past, I remember every word you told me that night. _Every word._ ” The glass was brought to his mouth as he took a much-needed sip. God, where was all that Asgardian mead when he needed it?

Natasha’s tone went back to being defensive, “A _little_ bit about my past?!! Wow. Never thought I’d share things with you only to have you _belittle_ them _._ ”

Steve swallowed the mouthful of alcohol in his mouth, letting the burning sensation pass before he spoke again.

“You know what I meant. I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t belittle-”

“Well it kinda _sounds_ like that’s what you meant!!” Natasha spat.

“Jesus, Nat. I wasn’t belittling, okay? What I meant was that you shared only bits and pieces of them, but not everything, you didn’t trust me enough to tell me everything. And I mean the _whole_ thing. _EVERY_ thing.” Steve said pointedly.

“Gee. If you’re such an _expert_ in the subject of my past, then I suppose you wouldn’t need me to share with you anything at all, would you?” Natasha spat, failing to contain the torrents of venom and acrimony spilling out from her lips.

Steve shook his head disapprovingly and stared at the contents of the rocks glass in his hand.

Seconds later, he tore his eyes away from the glass and stared right into the spy’s eyes.

“Alright, fine. Answer me this then, Nat. And I want the God-honest truth. No more quips, no more sarcasm, no more jokes.”

“Shoot.” Natasha said challengingly.

“Those things you shared with me that night in my room after I gave you the two pictures, did Clint have any knowledge of them?”

Natasha’s face scrunched up in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Steve sighed in exasperation, “What I meant was, have you ever told Clint before the same things that you had shared with me that night?”

The look of confusion on Natasha’s face deepened.

“What does that have to do with anything, Steve?” her voice was raised in frustration.

“Dammit, Nat. YES…or NO.”

“Yes, I did. But I’ve known Clint for years before you were even thawed, Steve. You can’t compare that.”

 Steve chuckled bitterly.

“Oh, I wasn’t comparing myself with Clint, Nat. _Far_ from it.” Steve said.

Natasha ran a hand through her crimson tresses.

“Then what? Steve. What am I missing? What does Clint’s knowledge of the things I’ve shared with you that night have to do with _anything_? Okay, so Clint knows about the things I’ve shared with you before, so what? I’ve known Clint for a decade now.”

Another bitter chuckle escaped the soldier’s lips.

“You’re a smart woman, Nat. You’ll figure it out.”

“Jesus, Steve. None of what you’re saying makes any sense…first you compared yourself with Bruce and then Clint-” Natasha paused.

Steve watched the emotions play out on her beautiful face. First there was a look of recognition, of understanding. Then there was the instant paling of her face, was it guilt? Then finally, crimson flushed away the last vestige of the paleness.

Her eyes, so beautiful. Even in anger and resentment, her eyes were beautiful.

She was angry.

And so very beautiful.

“Told you you’d figured it out.”

“So you did hear us. That morning, back at the Tower… when the team reassembled to deal with HYDRA and with Loki’s scepter… we were all staying at the tower…” Natasha’s eyebrows scrunched up, and her head tilted slightly to her right, trying to put the events together.

Steve remained silent.

She continued to piece the events together, “You overheard Bruce and I talking that morning didn’t you…? And then you walked in afterwards…acting all cheery and dandy.”

“Yes.” He answered.

“How much did you hear?” she asked.

“I heard enough.”

“Bruce and I were having a _private_ conversation, _Captain. Private._ One that you'd apparently eavesdropped on.” Natasha snarled.

Steve said nothing.

“Did you hear it by accident, or were you eavesdropping?” Natasha demanded.

Steve dropped his head in shame. He took a ragged breath and shook his head.

“ _Tell me_ , Steve. Were you eavesdropping?”

“Yes. Yes, I was eavesdropping.” Steve’s tone was weak, vanquished.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips.  

“Wow. What happened to Captain Purity with the unwavering morality? What happened to the Boy Scout from the 1940s? And here I’ve always thought that Steve Rogers _defines_ chivalry and respect. Yet he didn’t have the decency to respect the privacy of two people having a _PRIVATE_ conversation. Guess, I was totally wrong about you, huh? _The whole world_ , was wrong about you.”

Ouch _._

The pain hit him almost immediately, and without warning. His heart hurt so much that he wanted to scream. It was unbearable. He couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe that he would one day hear those words coming out of _her_ mouth. From Tony it’d be bearable, but coming from _HER._ God, did _that_ hurt like a fucking bitch. Her words right then were akin to a knife, no, more like a fucking _katana_ , stabbed all the way through his heart, and then twisted over and over again. Try as he might, he couldn’t contain the gasp of pain which erupted from his lips. He couldn’t breathe.

Steve closed his eyes, trying all he could to undo the mutilation that was done to his poor heart. 

_Ouch. Coming from anyone else I would’ve been able to ignore…but coming from you, Nat…Ouch…_

Steve sighed. His heart was hurting. His head was hurting. His eyes stung. His ears rang. Everything was hurting. He’d honestly never felt this terrible before, not since taking the serum. Hell, not even that dip he took in the Potomac 2 years ago felt as bad. He said nothing, merely tightened his grip on the poor glass in his hand.

Natasha asked again after a long while, “Why did you eavesdrop?”

No answer.

“Why, Steve?”

CRACK!

The rocks glass shattered in Steve’s superhuman grip.

“ **GODDAMMIT!!** BECAUSE I HAD FINALLY FOUND THAT PERSON WHOM I’M WILLING TO BEND ALL MY MORAL PRINCIPLES FOR, JUST SO I COULD HAVE A GODDAMN **_CHANCE_** TO KNOW A LITTLE BIT MORE ABOUT HER!! THAT PERSON WHICH I CARE ABOUT MORE THAN ANYTHING!! MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE!! AND DEFINITELY MORE THAN SOME STUPID CHIVALRY EVERYONE EXPECTS FROM ME!! **GOD!!** FOR ONCE IN MY **_LIFE_** , WOULD EVERYONE JUST GIVE ME A **_BREAK_?!** I’M NOT SOME INNOCENT SAINT Y’ALL THINK I AM, DAMN IT!! I’M _**HUMAN,**_ ROMANOFF. I'M _**HUMAN!!!!!!**_  I FEEL THINGS TOO!!”

Natasha’s eyes went wide.

Steve’s still-clenched right hand dropped to his side, with torrents of crimson liquid dripping from it.

Shards of broken glass clinked to the floor noisily.  

Puddling up beside Steve’s foot was a mixture of blood… and vodka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, folks.
> 
> The first time those two idiots actually confronted each other about their relationship. 
> 
> I've tried to create as much angst as I possibly could. But somehow I don't feel I did enough. How did you like the angst? Let me know in the comments below.
> 
> Stay tuned.  
> Isaiah.


	15. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings fellow readers. 
> 
> Okay. I've realized that Chapters 13 and 14 stirred up quite a bit of a reaction there. And it's the first time ever since I've published this story that I felt the story to be on slightly shaky grounds.
> 
> But no matter. I am determined to improve and make the future chapters more enjoyable. In the last chapter, we have the first glimpse (dropping a little hint here) into the long journey of Steve and Nat's coming together, where issues and events from their past (esp from Steve's POV) were brought onto the surface. The next few chapters would be the process of them trying to resolve these things together, not as a couple but as close friends.
> 
> I know Nat's behavior seemed a bit, for the lack of a better term, 'bitchy', but I assure you that there's a reason for her acting this way. That reason will be revealed in the **next** chapter. I hope that when it is revealed, the reason would make good sense to explain Nat's behavior.
> 
> I hope you would enjoy this chapter.

_“To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction; or, the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.” – Sir Isaac Newton, Principia Mathematica._

 

* * *

 

The soldier knew.

He knew, what his words must have sounded like.

A goddamn love confession.

Granted, it wasn’t direct. In fact, it was as oblique and subtle as it could possibly get (the word ‘love’ never once appeared). But still, the tenor was there. The words were out there in the air, whether they chose to admit it or not. Well, he would admit it, no doubt. But would _she_? 

The suite was quiet except for the sounds of heavy breathing of a man and a woman. Under more normal circumstances, those sounds would certainly be associated with more pleasant and _pleasurable_ activities, but then again, when there was a growing-size puddle of blood on the floor, it ain’t rocket science to figure out that the circumstances didn’t quite fit into the definition of ‘normal’.

Steve remained rooted on his spot, with their entire heated exchange stuck on replay in his mind. Every time when he reached the end of the playback (the point where the glass shattered in his hands), his mind would always come to the same conclusion: that he had really done it this time, that he had ruined their friendship… no, it was probably more than that, their relationship…… ugh, that didn’t sound quite right either… their partnership… _thing_ … whatever, completely.

He had fucked up the best thing that had happened to his life ever since the Super Soldier Serum.

He didn’t spare a single glance at her. He couldn’t. Because if he did, it would feel like it was the last time he would ever see her face again. And that would absolutely break him.

His head was dipped low, like how a defeated man’s would be. His chin rubbed continuously against the knot of the black tie tucked neatly between his collars.

His eyes were focused on his feet and nothing else.

He was waiting, no, _dreading_ , for the sound to come. That sound of the front door being opened and slammed shut. That sound, which would no doubt mark the beginning of his everlasting misery.

But it didn’t come.

Maybe not yet?

_Maybe she had already slipped out through the balcony or the bedroom windows and you’re none the wiser, you asshole._

Eventually, the pain trickled in, triggered by drops of his own blood pooling on his foot, right at the valley between the big toe and the second toe.

Right. He had forgotten his own strength and had broken things again as a result. Funny how that kept happening when things involved her. Then again, was it really that surprising? After all, she was truly the one woman with the power to get under his skin like nobody else. Hell, not even aliens raining down from a hole in the sky could match her ability to get under his skin. Hey, on second thought, screw the aliens. Not even _The Hulk_ could affect him as much as she does.

One hell of a woman she was.

The most maddening, infuriating, challenging and _ball-busting_ woman he had ever met in his entire life.

And he was in love with her.

So help him God, he was absolutely crazy about her; in a head-over-heels-shattering-glasses-with-bare-hands-getting-whacked-in-the-face-by-a-900-pound-punching-bag sort of way.

In other words, he was screwed.

Totally, undeniably, and utterly screwed, for all eternity.

As the seconds ticked by, the throbbing pain on his wounded right hand became increasingly difficult to ignore. The pain, pulsing in unison with his heartbeat, was rendered infinitely worse by the burning sensation courtesy of the ‘vodka dressing’ on his wound. The smell of blood and vodka didn’t escape his enhanced olfactory senses. As unpleasant as the stench was, he was actually grateful for it, because he could then use that bloody (literally and figuratively) stench as an excuse to explain the absence of her sweet scent instead of crediting it to her _actual_ physical absence from the room. At least he would still have some sort of ‘excuse’ to trick himself into believing that she was still there, with him, in the room. Objectivity be damned.  

He should deal with the blood, pick up the broken pieces, fix his torn flesh, and clean up the mess. He should. He really should. But he was too afraid to move. Too afraid to lift his head and see her gone from the room, from his _life_ , forever. God, he so wished that this was all was just another one of his hallucinations – from the moment their conversation turned bitter to the moment the glass shattered in his grip. How he wished that this was all just some sick oeuvre of his glucose-deprived brain, and that he would eventually wake up to the sight of Natasha standing in front of him, shaking his arm, asking if he was okay while he stared forever into those captivating emerald orbs of hers. Hell, he thought it would be better if this entire ‘Civil War’ debacle had been a nightmare, and that he would eventually wake up to see his team, his _family_ , still intact.

A tear slipped down his left cheek.

Instead of wiping it off, he followed the path of his own tear and watched it drop into the blood-vodka puddle, diluting the crimson liquid.

Her soft voice came to his rescue.

“Steve… let me take a look at the hand…”

Her voice…

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

God, how could a voice that had roused so much anger from within him not five minutes ago now seemed so soothing, and so  _alluring_?

Was this the effect of the often pedestalized 'power of love'? 

Was this living, physical proof of the old aphorism, 'love conquers all'?

He finally dared to lift his gaze from his feet.

He noticed that her back was no longer touching against the bedroom door, and that she was now standing in front of him.

_At least she’s still here._

He took a breath and shook his head, “It’s nothing. It’ll close up in 15 minutes, and heal completely in 30 minutes.”

He tried to sound nonchalant. _Tried_ to. But even the deaf could pick up the hoarseness in his usually clear-cut baritone.  

She was touching his injured hand now, her left hand grabbing at the wrist, “That doesn’t look like nothing, Steve. Let me take a look.”

She gave a slight tug.

He didn’t budge.

“It’s fine, Nat. I’ve had worse.”

She tugged harder.

He tried to pull away from her grasp, but something weird happened. Something which he had, until now, thought to be impossible.

His superhuman strength _failed_ him.

His _superhuman_ strength actually _failed_ him.

God, how pathetic he was right then, even his strength, the trusted advantage and power which he had so often relied on in combat situations, _crumbled_ at the mere feel of her skin against his. It truly terrified him a little, seeing the amount of power this woman had over him. She could literally crush him into pieces if she really wanted to. Take him asunder. Crush him. _Pulverize_ him.

"Steve…”

There was something in her voice. Something… that sounded a bit like fear, or worry.

Steve closed his eyes, struggling to find some sort of _balance_ between the feeling of comfort radiating from her touch and the stinging pain from the wound. The pain, as unsettling as it was, was also the reason why the woman of his dreams was even touching him. The pain was the _cause_ of all the comfort that he was feeling from her touch. So for him to prolong the tantalizing comfort of her hand on his wrist, the pain had to stay. And the result was the perfect amalgamation of two paradoxical sensations, pain and comfort, both coexisting in harmony.

He blew out a breath.    

“Nat, you don’t have to do this. I’ll deal with it later. Really, it’s fine…”

“Steve…let go of the glass.”

He opened his eyes.

“What?” he looked at her with confusion.

“Steve…let go of the glass. Please…” her tone was firm, but her eyes were pleading.

Pleading, she was  _pleading_ with him.

He glanced down at his hand and understood why.

The base of the rocks glass didn’t shatter completely, and a huge chunk of it was lodged within his palm. Because he was still clenching his fist like as if his life depended on it.

Guess that explained the huge puddle.

He unclenched his fist slowly. Three or four loose pieces dropped to the floor, but the main chunk remained stuck within his flesh.

Immediately, Natasha’s left hand yanked at Steve’s tie, causing him to stumble forward, _nearly_ colliding with her body.

“Nat. Stop…” Steve said weakly.

He shuddered at how utterly pathetic his voice sounded.

He sounded like a wounded feline who hadn't had anything to eat in months.

Natasha ignored him, and began _dragging_ the supersoldier by his tie over to the kitchen counter.

_Yeah, she’s feisty, that one. If there’s anyone who could manhandle a supersoldier, it’d be her._

Steve inwardly scoffed at the thought.

 _Big deal, asshole. She had even manipulated Loki before._ **Loki.** _A freaking_ **demigod.** _Manhandling a supersoldier? Pfft, like that’s even a big deal._

When they reached the counter, she _shoved_ (God, she was sexy, acting all feisty and badass like that) him down on a stool and proceeded to yank his injured hand towards the brightest area of the kitchen counter before taking a seat on the opposite side of the counter.

She began inspecting the wound before he could say another word.  

“It’s not as bad as it seems, Nat. Look, it’s late and you probably just got here and-”

“God, Rogers. Would you just _shut up_ already?! I’m trying to be a nurse here.” Her tone was snarky, but it still managed to bring out a tiny smile from Steve. A rather miraculous occurrence, considering how their previous conversation had turned out.

Maybe she was just that good at making him smile.

“Ты идиот <you idiot>…” Natasha said, her eyes still focused on inspecting his wound.

Steve managed a little smirk.

“You know…Nat. Of all the years we’ve known each other, this is actually the first time you’ve called me an idiot, right to my face, at least.” Steve said tiredly.

“That’s because this is the only time you’ve truly acted like one.” she stared daggers at him.

“Right. I suppose I deserved that.” Steve sighed.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Steve went for a joke.

“Hey, you sure you don’t wanna let me deal with the wound instead while you stand guard at the couch? I mean, it _is_ my blood. Wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of HYDRA goons burst through the balcony any second from now to take samples of it.”

“And whose fault do you think is that?” She mocked without taking her eyes off his hand.

“Touché. Look-”

Steve was cut off abruptly when the spy stood up from her seat.

“Sit tight. And don’t you dare move. I’m just gonna go grab some tools from the front reception. Maybe they have a Medi-Kit or something. Then I’ll come up and deal with the wound.”

Steve glanced up at her and was met with her don’t-fucking-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-kill-you face.

_God. So feisty. Reminds me so much of Peggy._

After a gulp, Steve said, “Yeah, okay.”

She let go of his hand and walked around the counter towards the front door.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She turned her head back over her shoulders when she reached the door, “If you so much as _think_ of moving _an inch_ away from that stool, Rogers, so help me God, I will _skin_ you alive, you got it?”

Steve gulped, again.

_Feisty. Sexy. And hot. Is it weird to be thinking about kissing her right now?_

Jesus, it’d been barely _minutes_ since they yelled at each other…and he was already thinking of ripping her clothes off?

Criminy, what had he become?

 _A man in love._ A voice in his head (which sounded _suspiciously_ like Bucky’s) whispered to him.

“Yes Ma’am…” was all he managed to say before the front door slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short. And it'd tone down the angst a little until we get to the feels. 
> 
> Next chapter was where the fun and feels lies. 
> 
> Stay tuned. Oh. And please, leave a comment, okay? Thanks.  
> Isaiah.


	16. Nurse

_“Save one life, you are a hero. Save a hundred lives, you are a nurse.” – Anonymous._

 

* * *

 

Natasha had been poking around his injured hand with a pair of forceps for a little over ten minutes now. The largest chunk of the glass had long since been removed. So, now, she was merely prodding around to find and remove those smaller, loose shards.

“You sure you don’t feel weird or anything? You lost quite a lot of blood there.”

Steve rolled his eyes and gave a snort.

“Really, Nat? I’ve taken direct hits from a demigod’s scepter, from Tony’s repulsors at close range, and from some guy who probably ran faster than a speeding bullet. I think I’ll live.” Steve retorted drily.

“Gee. Guess that explains why you were clutching onto that piece of glass like some masochistic old _pervert_.” Natasha jibed while she yanked one of the glass pieces out of his hand with perhaps a little too much force than necessary.

Steve grimaced.

“Comes with the serum. My pain tolerance is a lot higher than that of a normal human. Guess I just didn’t realize I was squeezing it.”

“Yeah, well… Whatever _high_ pain tolerance you allegedly have, it didn’t seem to stop you from making weird faces when I pulled that last one out did it?” said the spy without even looking away from his hand.

_Of course she’d notice that._

Steve smirked.

“I suppose it’s useless to tell you that some pollen went into my eye or something…”

The spy shot him a get-real look before she went back to poking around his palm. Ever since the serum, Steve had always avoided letting others deal with his wounds unless it was absolutely necessary. Mainly because he just felt uncomfortable, having people poking needles or messing with his wounds. Some other times, it was a form of precautionary measure, because he knew that there were many bad people out there who were _very_ interested in getting their hands on his blood. But with Natasha, he found that he didn’t mind. Not at all. And in fact, it even surprised him, considering the countless times he had actually let her take care of him, like right now.

Quietly, Steve sat in his stool and watched her work. His gaze remain transfixed on her face as he continually studied her. The look of pure concentration was there, he’d quickly noticed. And then, of course, there were also other enticing details highlighting her features too. Such as the slight furrow of her brows, or the quick dance of her eyes in their sockets, or the unconscious opening and closing of her lips, or perhaps the occasional tongue peeking out to wet her lips. All of which had, time and again, rendered Steve in a state of utter _bewitchment_.

Christ. She was beautiful. Magnificently, stunningly, alluringly and dazzlingly beautiful. She deserved all the love in the world. All the good things that this world had to offer, she deserved. She deserved to be treasured. She deserved to be loved and cared for.

If only he could be that person to give her those things.

At some point, the spy must’ve noticed his relentless gawking and staring, because she suddenly looked up from his injured hand. Their eyes met across the kitchen counter. Her nursing duties all but forgotten. For a split second, he actually panicked. Because he thought that she might say something which would lead to another yelling match. But the panic vanished quickly when a tiny smile formed on her face. It was quite a subtle smile. Barely noticeable, just a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. But he knew her well enough to be able to perceive the subtle gesture.

Was she gonna start teasing him again? Start making fun of him for all the gawking he’d done? Or maybe start throwing some grandad jokes at him? Or maybe make some sort of sassy comment about him developing wrinkles if he kept staring so intensely at her face?

Should he say something?

That little moment ended when she dropped her gaze back onto his hand and went back to playing Florence Nightingale. Once again, he felt the tip of the forceps pressed against his skin, poking at his hand, nipping his flesh, pulling out tiny little translucent shards.

Steve couldn't help but take in the entire scene before him, his mind piecing together every single detail before his eyes as it tried to create some form of pattern. 

A kitchen counter. A beautiful woman. A nice living suite.

An actual _life._

Warmth erupted within Steve's chest like brilliant fireworks. The warmth, the heat, and the sparks, swirled around in his torso like a vortex until they settled snugly at the pit of his belly.

Because that entire scene right there? This whole...  _activity_ that they were engaged in? It was… _domestic._ So natural, and just so… _right._

It was a quick taste of happiness, a quick glimpse into the depths of his heart's longing.

A life.  _His_ life. With an actual  _someone_ in it.

**It was a life shared with a loved one.**

_The war’s over Steve…_

_We can go home…_

_Imagine it!_

_We can go home…_

Home.

Where _is_ home?

Did he even have one?

That warm fuzzy feeling soon morphed into desolation, and into sadness. The glimpse into happiness soon became a reminder of the life that he couldn’t possibly have.

He had no home.

He had no one.  

His best friend was a block of ice.

His first love lay asleep in a wooden box.

His second love was in love with another man.

He had **_no one._**  

None.

His life, a  _zero sum._

Another sharp tug of the forceps against his skin pull him out of his morbid thoughts.

He winced at the slight discomfort.  

The cool, metallic feel of the forceps tip moved to another corner of his palm. 

“You know… you’d make a great nurse, Nat.” Steve commented lightly, trying _very hard_ not to wince this time as he felt another piece being yanked out of his flesh.

Natasha glared katanas at him.

Uh-oh. Did he hit a sore spot or something? Did he say something wrong?

_Way to go, Steve. Looks like you’ve just added another pile of shit onto your shitty day._

But come on, he merely made an innocent comment about nurses. How was that even offending?

Did Natasha hate nurses or something?

But why would Natasha hate nurses? Pfft, why would _anyone_ hate nurses? Nurses were great. They’re like angels. They save lives. Heck, his own Ma was a nurse.

Would it mean that she hated his Ma too?

Steve briefly entertained the silly notion that maybe the reason why Natasha never saw him beyond platonic boundaries was because of his Ma’s occupation. Maybe her hatred for nurses was so colossal that the mere idea of being romantically entangled with a nurse’s offspring downright repulsed her?

Bollocks.

The whole load of that was just plain _ridiculous._

What the hell was he even thinking? She didn't want him because she couldn't want him. And she couldn't want him because she just ain't feeling it. Plain and simple.  _Deal with it, Rogers._

But hey, why was she still glaring at him like that?

_What the hell did I do?_

Ahem. Well. Apparently, yelled at her, pushed her back against the wall, and then made numerous disrespectful comments about her relationship with other men. In other words, acted like a needy, presumptous, bitter, and conceited jackass.

_Way to go, Rogers._

But why didn't she leave, then? Why stay and tend to his sorry ass? He clearly didn't deserve her tender care after making such an ass of himself just now. Hell, even _he_ wouldnt stay and tend to him after what he did. 

So why stay? 

Pfft. Guess he really didn’t know a _bloody_ thing about women. Seriously, women are such complicated creatures.

“Did I…uh…did I…say something wrong? Because you look like you’re about to shoot me.”

The glare remained.

“No. I’m just feeling terribly sorry for myself right now…I mean look at me, two days ago I’m an Avenger, and now, I’m a senior citizen’s private nurse. It’s a little bit degrading for a career change.”

And believe it or not folks, she actually spouted all _that_ with a straight face, and a piercing glare _._ God, she was hilarious.

Steve chuckled.

“Well, then. In that case, my stand remains. You’d make a wonderful nurse, Nat.”

Any remaining scintilla of his concerns were immediately allayed when the glare finally morphed into her trademark smirk.

“And you’d make a decent masochist, Rogers. Won’t be that surprised if I ever come across you _getting off_ right there in the middle of a battlefield, with a bunch of bullets and blades stuck in your chest.” she quipped back sassily.

Steve laughed.

“Oh, I assure you, Nat. You don’t need no bullets to get _me_ off. You only need the right woman.” Steve’s eyes bored into hers, those baby blue orbs grew several shades darker thereupon.

 _And the right one is sitting right across me._ He had wanted to add, but he didn’t, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with the consequences which would follow those words just yet.

_You are the only one I ever need, Nat. If only you feel the same, if only…_

“Are you _flirting_ with me, Rogers?” her tone amused for the first time ever since their yelling match.

“Did it work?” Steve went for a smile to cover up another wince that he had once again failed to stave off as she pulled more shards out.

“Well, you might wanna try it again next time, when you don’t have broken pieces of glass…” Natasha paused, and forcefully yanked out a huge piece of glass, causing Steve to grimace, “stuck in your hand. Because I’m pretty sure that…” she paused for a second time and _ripped_ another piece out, “flirting doesn’t work when people do it with constipated looks on their faces.”

Steve didn’t miss the instigation that there would be a ‘next time’, but had wisely elected not to comment on it, because there would probably be, you know, consequences.  

Steve chuckled and nodded, “Just returning the many ‘favors’ you’d done me all those years ago.”

Steve was referring to all the times she had flirted with him, causing him to be in _very_ ‘tight’ and uncomfortable…uh…states. Then again, who was he even kidding? Most of the time, she didn’t even have to flirt or do _anything_ to get him into… well, ‘tight’ situations. All it took was a simple gesture, such as a curl of her lips, or maybe a casual flip of her hair, or heck, just by wearing a freaking _sports bra_ , and she could have him squirming and calling his elastic pants for help.    

Natasha responded by _wrenching_ out yet another huge piece from his flesh, eliciting a deep groan from the supersoldier. He cursed under his breath at the pain.

_Did she do that on purpose?_

Judging from the slight curve at the edge of her lips, yep, she probably did.

“In hindsight, flirting probably isn’t my strong suit, seeing how the woman was so keen on causing me pain right after I tried my mojo on her.” Steve said wryly.

Natasha chuckled.  

“Well…maybe she just knows that you’re into masochism.” Natasha looked up from his hand through her lashes without lifting her chin, altogether giving out a _very, very_ seductive aura.

 _Jesus Christ. This woman_ defines _seduction. I’ll be lucky if I survive through the night without a hole in my pants._

Steve smirked, “So it worked, huh? And for the record, I am _not_ into masochism.”

Natasha gave him an innocent look, “Oh…I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Steve… Let’s see here… jumping out of a plane without a chute...willingly participating in a one on one brawl with Ultron, and, more recently with its creator. Jumping right into the clash of egos between a thunder god and a walking arsenal… the broken glass just now…preventing a _helicopter_ from taking off with your bare hands….? Shall I go on?”

Steve scoffed, “Those were different, Nat. It’s not like I was… _getting off_ or anything while I did those things.”

“Well I guess I wouldn’t know that, would I?” Natasha smirked before going back to playing nurse.

_Oh you could if you want to…_

_Just say the word, and I’ll let you ‘know’ for the rest of your life, Nat._

 

* * *

 

Once again, Steve left Natasha to work in silence while he busied himself with thinking of ways to repair the damage done from their prior heated argument. As usual, he would try to shoulder all the blame, fall on his sword……shield…? Whatever.

He went over the line this time. That, he had no doubt of. He had let his feelings for Natasha controlled his actions, his thoughts, and his words. And now, he was at the risk of jeopardizing years of friendship between them, if it wasn’t already in ruins.

He tried to remember the exact moment in their conversation when he had truly lost it, truly succumbed to his feelings. He realized that it was precisely at the moment when Natasha belittled his trust in her. From that point on, he had pretty much just… let his heart take over, or in simpler terms, snapped. He had felt an inexorable impulse to convince her just how much she meant to him and to convince her just how much he trusted her, be it on the battlefield or with his heart. Then one thing led to another, and he just _had_ to let his petty jealousy screw it all up. Yes, he knew that it was wrong of him to demand her to share things with him when _she_ really didn’t want to. He had absolutely no right to demand her of that. _None_. Because she wasn’t his, they weren’t together. They had nothing special together. Her and Bruce was special, but her and him? Pfft. No. Not really. Try as Steve might, he just couldn’t see how Natasha ever saw him in a special way. As far as Steve knew, Natasha had always treated him as if he was just another Average Joe. Like, come on. Meaningless flirting? Casual teasing? Nothing special there, right? Hell, _even_ if they were (by some miracle) indeed an item, he would still have no right to force her to do things that _she_ didn’t want to do – including revealing all her secrets to him. Therefore, yes, it was wrong of him to expect her to trust him with her secrets or emotions when _she_ herself had not the desire to do so. He couldn’t possibly  _demand_ that of her. It just wouldn’t be fair to her.

Steve knew, that bringing up the thing with Bruce was a mistake. A mistake induced by something as petty as jealousy. She had every right to choose whomever she wanted to trust her secrets with in the same way she had the liberty to choose whomever _not to trust_ her secrets with! Steve just didn’t have a goddamn say in it, whether he liked it or not. Yet, he acted as though he did have a say in it, so, well, time to face the music.

In hindsight, Steve wasn’t sure if he could even blame her for wanting to share intimate things about herself with Bruce, since she was, you know, _in love_ with the guy. Love makes people willing to share things after all – as far as Steve could tell anyway, not that he had much experience with relationships to begin with. Hey, come to think of, wouldn't that also explain why he himself was able to share, so naturally and without restraint, intimate things about himself with Natasha? Because Steve was, you know, _in love_ , with Natasha. Basically, just the same principle applied to different pairings!

Similarly, could he really blame Natasha if she _didn’t_ feel the same way about him and therefore, by extension, had not the desire to share all her secrets with him? Again, in retrospect, Steve found that he really couldn’t! After all, it wasn’t like Steve would one day just randomly decide to sit down with Sharon and spill his heart to her for hours on end, right? No. That would be an _extremely_ unlikely occurrence, because he wasn’t _in love_ with Sharon. Well, the exact same reasoning applies to Natasha’s case too, right? Natasha wasn’t in love with him, so that was why she didn’t want to share all her secrets with him. It was fundamentally the same principle, just applied to different pairings. So why the double standard? How could he expect Natasha to open up to him when she wasn’t… in love with him?

_Way to go, you asshole. You’ve hurt her, you selfish bastard._

All in all, Steve felt like a total asshole, a douchebag, a jackass, a dickhead, a jerk…you name it.

He had to fix this. Fix _them_. Before their goose was truly cooked.

Steve schooled his features. He stole a glance at the spy and was satisfied that she was still busy playing nurse.

First, he needed a plan of attack. He couldn’t afford to screw it all up at this point. He’d need a systematic approach that could give him a tactical advantage. He needed a sound plan. Though, whatever that plan was, he was pretty sure that it would involve a _lot_ of groveling, and God forbid, _begging._  

He watched the spy slowly put the forceps back down onto the countertop’s surface. He assumed at that point that all the shards were gone from his hand, though if he was honest, he didn’t really care. She slowly removed her hand from his wrist, the same one she had used to steady his injured hand while she was ‘nursing’ his wounds.

Steve was staring at her intensely now, but she didn’t seem to notice, because her eyes was focused on some of the bloody shards laid down on the countertop. Her expression seemed…hesitant, like she was unsure of what to say next.

Damn. Steve really dreaded the things that would come out from her mouth next. For all he knew, it could be, _‘Steve…I think I’m gonna go…’_ or _‘Steve…I don’t think we should see each other ever again…’_ or _‘Steve… I’m gonna walk out that door, and I won’t ever appear in front of you ever again.’_ All of which, to Steve, were pretty much the same as obtaining a free lease for a lifelong supply of shit.

All of a sudden, Steve couldn’t bear looking at her, too afraid that if he so much as looked at her, then he would somehow catch her lips moving, and that the words which came out were those words which he dreaded most. He tore his gaze away from her face and focused on some non-existent spot on the kitchen counter instead.

For all his hesitancies and evasiveness, Steve knew damn well that he should really say something, make things right again. And it would be best if he said it quick, before she could utter the words which he so dreaded.

 _Ugh, to hell with plans, out with it, Rogers, come on!_ Steve pepped himself for his impending _groveling_ task.  

“I’m sorry that I yelled at you, Na-”

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you, Ste-”

Well. Apparently, both the soldier and the spy found their voices at the _exact_ same time.

Interesting.

Okay, but _seriously_ though, this simultaneity-in-their-speeches thingy was really starting to turn him on. Either he had the best timing in the universe, or he had just uncovered a hidden mind-reading superpower of the Super Soldier Serum. What was the deal with this simultaneity in their speeches anyway? When did they even start to have that kind of thing? Steve briefly entertained the notion of that same simultaneity being applied to _other_ arenas aside from speech; such as in the bedroom, for instance. Like, it’d certainly be great if they could have simultaneous orga-

Ahem. _Anyway._

Their eyes met across the kitchen counter. Stirring jolts of electricity through the still air as a result. Invisible sparks zapped across the space between them, sending tingles down each of their spines. Tingles, which neither of them would acknowledge afterwards.

Neither released the breaths that they were holding.

And then they both threw tentative smiles at each other, which in turn transformed into hearty chuckles, all of which occurring in perfect unison and beautiful synchrony.

Somewhere along their giggling fits, they had both lowered their gazes back onto the kitchen counter, too embarrassed to even look at each other.

When the laughter finally subsided, Steve regrouped and decided to let Natasha say her piece first, hoping that their shared chemistry wouldn’t get in the way of effective communication this time.

“Ladies fir-” said Steve.  

“You go fir-” said Natasha.

Only, both were uttered at the exact same time and at the exact same rhythm, _again_. So much for chemistry improving communication.

Maybe they should just forgo any attempts at conversations, and just let their bodies do all the talking instead. And then as a side bonus, they could even find out if their simultaneity do in fact exist in the bedroom after all.

Steve managed a tentative smile and a titter, “Sorry, Nat. Guess that happens a lot, huh?”

Natasha returned the smile, “It’s alright… Think we can give Maximoff a run for her money?”

Steve’s smile widened, showing two rows of perfect teeth.

“Don’t think so. No.” He shook his head slightly, “How about you go first, Nat?”

Natasha grinned at him, “Actually, I think _you_ should go first. You senior citizens are prone to memory lapses after all. Should probably spit ‘em out before you forget ‘em…don't you think?”

Steve guffawed. Boy, how he loved her sharp wit, and even more so when it was used to crack another one of her grandad jokes at him.  

“Alright then. I’ll go first…” Steve agreed.

Natasha began rummaging through the Medi-Kit again while Steve collected his thoughts. She took out some cotton buds, a tube of antiseptic and a small bottle of distilled water from the kit before she started cleaning off the vodka from his wounds with the distilled water.

Steve began after a long while.

“I’m so sorry for yelling at you, Nat. That was wrong of me.” 

Natasha had already begun dabbing his wounds with antiseptic by then, but from the slight nod of her head, Steve knew that he had her attention.

“When I said that I didn’t want you there with me in Siberia, it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Nat. It was because I didn’t think I’d survive if I lost you.” Steve said solemnly.

The spy processed Steve’s words with care, and the cotton bud seemed to mirror the actions of its holder by slowing down its trajectory over his broken flesh.

At her silence, Steve went on, “Please, Nat. _Believe me_. It also wasn’t because I didn’t think you could handle yourself if you were there, Nat. I know that you can. But there were risks. _Great_ risks. Tony, he…” Steve faltered.

The cotton bud stilled, and was soon abandoned on the countertop. The spy looked up at the soldier and took note of his distress.

The soldier sighed and shook his head.  

“He lost it, Nat. He couldn’t tell the difference between friend and foe anymore. Jesus…Nat, I was holding back…... I...” Steve’s voice was thick with emotion; sadness, regret, and everything in between.

Natasha’s hand rose to his cheek and stroked him tenderly. Steve leaned gratefully into her touch, savoring the comfort and warmth which emanated from her hand.

After a few moments, Steve picked up where he left off, “I was holding back. I couldn’t fight him. Tony’s my friend too… I merely did what I needed to do to stop him from killing Bucky, and to buy some time so that Bucky could scram. But God, Nat. Tony was going at me like he wanted me dead. He threw us _everything_ he got. When I was down on the ground, he threw a punch at me that would’ve actually killed me if I wasn’t quick enough to avoid it… He used missiles on us. And even his chest beam…his chest beam destroyed Bucky’s metal arm… and his repulsors... I was hit by the repulsors at melee range… broke some of my ribs. Christ, Nat…”

Her hand slipped away from his cheek and settled itself on his forearm. Steve’s cheek instantly missed the warmth and comfort of her touch. For a moment, he thought of chasing that hand, and putting it back right where it belonged – his cheek. But he didn’t, because her index finger began tracing out loops of comfort on his forearm through his shirt sleeve.

“Look, I know how _great_ you are. You’re one of the most lethal fighters I’ve seen. But you’re still human. And Tony’s your friend too. And I _know,_ that, like me, you would see him as a friend back in Siberia if you were there with me. I know that you’d hold back against him like I did, because I know you, Nat. But thing is, I’m afraid that he wouldn’t hold back against _you_. Because like I said before, he’s totally lost it.” Steve said.

“And if _anything_ happened to you…I...” Steve’s voice cracked, “I wouldn’t… I _couldn’t_ …”

Tears slipped down Steve’s cheeks.

He sniffed and took a deep breath of composure, “I’ve lost enough people in my life. And I can’t lose you too, Nat. I can’t. You’re too important to me. Do you understand that?” Steve pleaded.

“I know now, Steve. I get it now. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” the spy stated firmly.

“Thank you.” Steve replied gratefully.

Wanting to give Steve some space to collect himself, the spy picked up the abandoned cotton bud and resumed her work.

* * *

 

Steve regained his composure after 3 minutes of comfortable silence.

“And I also want you to know that I trust you. With everything. Believe me, Nat, I do.” Steve said, ending the brief hiatus.

Her hand faltered once more. The cotton bud paused and hovered above his wounds. She looked back up into Steve’s eyes, seemingly to seek confirmation for his words.

And God did Steve ever tried his damnest to give her just that.

“I trust you. More than _anyone_ else. There’s no other person on this planet that I would trust more than I trust you, Natasha. Nobody. Not even Bucky. Or else, I wouldn’t have asked you to get Bucky’s file for me.” Steve spoke earnestly. He held her gaze with such intensity that he could literally feel his eyeballs being at the verge of popping out of his eye socks.  

“Do you… do you really mean that?” The spy asked tentatively when she broke their eye contact, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve nearly rolled his eyes.

One of these days, he was going to have to find a way to deal with her insecurities regarding her trustworthiness. One of these days.

“ _Yes._ I meant every word, Nat.” Steve restated with as much conviction he could muster.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“You’re welcome.” he whispered back.

His eyes sought hers.

Natasha busied herself with applying antiseptic on his wounds. He had a feeling that she was avoiding eye contact on purpose, but again, had decided not to call her out on it. Didn’t want to ruin the mood.

But when Steve tried to read her face seconds later, he saw a flick of relief and…… _disbelief_.

Disbelief, at the fact that she truly had his complete trust.

_Oh… Nat. What have those bastards done to you……_

Immediately, Steve’s heart went out to the amazing woman seated right in front of him. She really hadn’t a single fucking clue how amazing of a person she was, hadn’t she? And the shittiest part was that no matter what he did, he still wasn’t able to get her to _see_. To see how _good_ she truly was.

 

* * *

  

Young Natalia Alianovna Romanova was a brilliant young girl with a propitious future. A person who deserved all the love in the world, the kind of person Captain America was meant to protect and fight for. Someone who deserved to be _free_ , someone who had _all the right_ to be free. But life was never fair. And reality, ever cruel. Before young Natalia had a chance to live her life and inscribe her own kismet, humanity’s vilest invaded her life and took everything away from her. She was subjugated, tortured, used, objectified, and brainwashed. They took away _everything_. Her loved ones. Her soul. Her heart. Her mind. Her fate. Her _choices._ Her _freedom._

That much Steve had known from Pierce’s HYDRA files.

She had lost everything to those sick sons of bitches at the Red Room and KGB. Those cruel, and evil bastards who deserved to rot in hell for eternity. Steve’s regret was that he couldn’t be the one to send them there.  

Young Natalia was forced into complete darkness. She was bludgeoned into the most profound depths of evil, _by evil_. However, what touched Steve the most about Natalia’s life weren’t the ordeals that were imposed on her, no. Instead, it was what **_she had become despite her ordeals_** that had proliferated Steve’s admiration for the woman. In other words, Steve was deeply moved by the depths of Natalia’s strength and resilience. From the moment Steve began studying her files, he had caught glimpses of what she had been through at the hands of those bastards, and he _saw,_ he _saw_ all the efforts she had made in order to fight her way out of evil’s claws. And those were only the stuff that were actually _in_ the files! Ever since overhearing… fine, eavesdropping, okay? Ever since he eavesdropped on Natasha’s conversation with Bruce, he knew that there were a lot more things about her past that were left out of the files, and that some of those things were unknown even to Clint. He knew that there were a ton of other things about her past that were known only to herself and more recently to Bruce. And Steve’s gut told him that those secrets she had shared with Bruce were probably a lot worse than the things he’d read from her files.

Worse secrets, darker secrets or whatnot, none of that mattered. Because whatever her secrets were, they wouldn’t change one thing: which was the fact that Natalia amazed Steve to the depths of his heart.

It simply amazed Steve to see the person that she had become today despite everything she had been through. And yeah, speaking of the things that she was put through, there were still times where Steve would find himself almost in tears at the mere thought of them. Even until now, the things that he had read in her files still tugged at his heartstrings like how a 120-tonne electric tug would. Other times, he would feel his blood boil in rage whenever he thought of all the sick tortures that the Red Room had subjected her to. From the very moment he opened her file, he had made a vow to himself, that he was gonna kill those sons of bitches if he ever found any of them. 

Young Natalia was strong. Time and again, she had shown tremendous strength in her mind, and in her _heart_. She endured. She rallied. She managed to fight back, and from the deepest of darkness, she had crawled her way back out into the light. In the end, she thrived. Steve could find no words, none at all, which would suffice in expressing the depths of her strength. He really couldn’t.

The most alarming fact was that Natalia _almost_ didn’t make it. That terrifying thought still had the capacity to make Steve’s blood run cold, even until this day. There were times when Steve would feel his skin crawl at the thought of Natalia never making it out of the darkness she was entrapped in. Steve silently thanked whatever Deity that existed for leading Clint Barton towards the discovery of Natalia. He really didn’t know what would have happened to Natalia if it wasn’t for Clint.

Clint Barton.

Clint Barton was a Godsend.  

Clint Barton, the hero. The one who stood at the opening end of the dark tunnel that Natalia was trying so desperately to crawl out of. The man who had reached his hand out to Natalia instead of kicking her back down into the tunnel.

Clint Barton. The man who had grabbed hold of her hand and finally pulled Natalia out into the light.

Clint Barton was her savior.

Hell, Clint Barton was _Steve’s_ savior.  

Hawkeye was sent to kill Natalia. He made a different call. Hawkeye was a fucking genius. Captain America owed Hawkeye a _huge_ one.

At that, Steve made a mental note to himself to properly thank Clint for making that brilliant decision to spare Natalia’s life back then, for giving Natalia a chance to be out in the light. Heck, Steve would give Clint a hug, help chop fifty years’ worth of firewood supply for his farm, _anything._ Steve would give _anything_. He felt like he owed Clint for giving him a chance to know Natasha. But uh-oh, on second thought, wouldn’t Steve also have the Red Skull to thank for that too? Yikes. Not much of a comforting thought, the latter.

Once out in the light, Natalia quickly became one of the foremost champions of good. She fought to protect, and she began saving lives, _lots and lots_ of lives. She became an Avenger, and a damn amazing one at that too. But Steve could tell, that there were still scars left behind from her past. She was emotionally closed off. She was prone to using humor and her wit to hide her true emotions. She didn’t like talking about her emotions. She preferred to bottle them all up. She became afraid to love – but it’s probably safe to say that she had overcome this particular fear when she finally encountered her knight in that ridiculously large _green_ armor. And worst of all? She was incapable of seeing the good in herself.

None of that would _ever_ change Steve’s opinions of her though. Steve could see that there was _a lot_ of good in Natalia, no matter how much she tried to deny it. Steve _knew_ with two hundred percent certainty that Natalia was a good person, a _beautiful_ person.

Yes, Natalia was beautiful, both inside and out.

Only, she was clueless. No matter how many times he tried to show her, she just wouldn’t believe her own beauty, her own goodness, and her own _worth_.

_Jesus. What have those monsters done to such a beautiful person?_

What Steve felt next was rage. Pure unadulterated rage. At those sick, inhumane monsters who did those things to her and to Bucky. HYDRA, the KGB… all the fucking bullies in the world. Steve Rogers _hated_ bullies. He had had _enough_ of bullies. No more pulling his punches. The next time he encountered HYDRA agents, he was gonna fucking kill them with a single punch.  

Steve wanted to undo all those things that were done to Natalia. He didn’t know if he could. But he had to try. She deserved to know how wonderful and beautiful she really was. She needed to be reminded of the good in her. Was he the right man for the job? He honestly had no clue, but he ain’t giving no rat’s ass. He would try his _damnest_ to remove the shades that those bastards had put over her eyes, to get her to finally see the light, and to see colors. And most importantly, to see _herself_ standing and _shining_ in the light. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be free.

Because Steve loved her.

 

* * *

 

The antiseptic tube was capped, and Natasha was already putting away the cotton buds back into the wrapper. The antiseptic induced a light stinging sensation on all the cuts, but they were meagre compared to what the vodka did.

Steve wanted to say something, _anything_ , to comfort her, and to make things right between them again. 

Steve reached across the counter top with his uninjured hand, and touched her shoulder, “Hey, listen. I know…that it is hard for you to believe what I told you before, about how much I trust you. But I won’t give up. I will try _everything_ in my power to prove it to you, to show you that you have my complete trust. I _promise_ you.”

Natasha let out a gentle breath, her eyes were glassy when she looked at him. But he didn’t comment on it, he didn’t joke. He didn’t _want_ to joke. He wanted her to know that he meant everything he said.

She whispered, “Thank you, Steve. That means a lot…”

“Always.” said Steve as he removed his hand from her shoulder. 

Another tear fell onto Steve’s vest, and he sniffed loudly, “Sorry. Stupid pollen.” He shook his head in embarrassment and quickly lowered his head.

“Yeah……I’m sure it is.” Natasha smiled, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Steve chuckled.  

The spy smiled and patted his uninjured hand and rubbed it a couple of times, “And I’m sorry too… for doubting your trust. And for snapping at you.”

Steve looked up, “Oh, no. It’s okay. Nat. You don’t have to-”

“No. I do. And I shouldn’t have taken it personally……I mean about just now, when you said that you wouldn’t want me there in Siberia if you were given another choice. It sounds stupid now, really. Arguing over a hypothetical _if._ But, I just want you to know that…that having your trust means a lot to me, Steve… So, when you said that you didn’t want me there with you, for a moment it felt like you’ve lost confidence in me… and I guess I just got a little defensive…I’m sorry…”

“Nat. It’s okay…You have every right to be mad, I shouldn’t have said things so crassly. So I’m sorry too.”

Natasha was toying with his sleeve when she went on, “Ever since the Red Room, I… I felt… I felt like I’ve lost part of my humanity. Like they’ve taken me apart and changed me into…” she hesitated, “into _something else_.” She had wanted to say ‘a monster’ at first, but she knew that it would probably anger Steve again.

Steve rubbed affectionately at her hand that was smoothing over his sleeve.

She took it as a gesture for her to continue speaking.

“I felt dead inside… I don’t feel _human_ anymore. Like I’m just a tool, an empty shell without a soul.”

Steve’s gaze softened. But he remained silent.

“It wasn’t as bad after I joined SHIELD, because I thought I was going straight and that SHIELD was my second chance. My second chance at being human. I thought I could… _redeem_ my humanity by fighting alongside the good guys.”

Steve exhaled, and placed his uninjured hand over hers in a comforting clasp. He knew where she was going with this, but he waited patiently for her to continue. He kept his hand there, letting her know that he was with her all the way.   

“But then in that New Jersey bunker, we found out that SHIELD was HYDRA all along. I felt my whole world crashing down on me, Steve. My second chance, all that _good_ I thought I had been doing, and all the lies that I had told, they were all for HYDRA. I had put so much into what I did for SHIELD, thinking that I was doing good, thinking that I was redeeming myself, but it turned out… it turned out in the end that I merely traded my soul from one devil to another. I was…devastated.”

Yeah…that fateful day back at Camp Leigh, the day they discovered that what they had done in the past were all for nothing, heck, he himself had literally _died_ for nothing. They were both devastated, to put mildly.

Steve held his tongue, waiting for her to say more.

“When the bogey came in, I nearly gave up…” she went on.

Steve’s brows furrowed, “Gave up?”

Steve had a feeling that he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

Natasha sighed, “Yeah…remember when you found that hole on the floor back at the bunker?”

Steve said, “Yeah…”

He really had thought that they were both going to die back then, and worst, die in vain. Not a pleasant experience for someone with an eidetic memory. 

“I was going to throw the Project Insight flash drive over to you and……I uhh… I wasn’t planning to jump into the hole with you.”

“Oh, Nat…” Steve sighed and tightened his hold on her hand.

“I uh…I didn’t…… I thought that if I didn’t go in with you, you would have a better chance of survival…… I mean if you weren’t wasting effort protecting me, then maybe you just _might_ make it out alive….and…I didn’t want to burden you or prevent you from fully protecting yourself…besides, I thought that I…” she hesitated again.

“You what?” Steve prodded gently.

“I thought that I didn’t deserve to live.” she finally said with a dejected sigh.

It took Steve literally everything, _everything_ , to not let his emotion show on his face. He didn’t want her to think that he was pitying her, because he knew she _hated_ that. 

Instead, Steve schooled his features and asked in a calm voice, “What stopped you? From giving up, I mean.”

This time, the spy smiled and looked up into his eyes, “You, Steve. It was you.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, and his face was a combination of awe and perplexity.

The spy continued, “When you were picking up the metal grating covering that hole you found, like I said, I was already hesitating and I was about to throw the flash drive to you... But after you tossed the grating aside, you just… _turned around_ back at me and gave me this… _look_ , like you were expecting me to just jump into your arms and under your shield, like it was the most natural and obvious thing in the world, like it was… _instinctive_ and… like as if your subconscious mind thought that my life was _worth_ saving, Steve. And I just…” Natasha paused with a sigh.

Steve’s eyes glazed over at the memory of those final few seconds when the missile hit the bunker. Yes, he did turn back and held his arms wide for her. He wanted to protect her. The thought of abandoning her to death never once crossed his mind. By the time she was in his arms, he could already feel the heat from the explosion and the shockwave trying to throw him off balance. But he stood firm and leaped into the pit with her in his arms. And when the whole building was crashing down on them, all he could think about was keeping her safe. He didn’t care about anything else. Heck, he didn’t even think about the fucking mission anymore at that time. All he wanted to do was to keep her alive. So he stood strong with his shield raised, and endured tons and tons of crashing concrete until it was over.

He also remembered feeling his heart stop at the sight of her unconscious figure. He remembered refusing to accept the possibility that she might already be dead and that he had truly failed her. He remembered picking up her limp body as he made his way out of the rubble. It wasn’t until he saw her chest move that he had begun to breathe again.      

The spy chuckled and picked up after her brief pause, “I guess at that moment, I just felt human again. I felt _alive_. Because you thought that my life was worth saving, and because you thought of me as more than just a tool, Steve. You thought that there’s value in my life even after finding out that I had been lying and killing for the bad guys all along. You valued my life… and I just …I felt strong once more. So I chose to fight. To fight alongside you and to have your back.”

And Steve couldn’t have been any prouder of her for that, for choosing to fight back with all she had. He was so proud of her, and grateful too. He was lucky to have her by his side, watching his back. She was the best partner he could ever hope for.

Steve took a breath and smiled, “I’m glad you did. Because what we did in DC…” Steve exhaled, “We all couldn’t have done it without you. We saved a lot of lives. _You_ saved a lot of lives. Remember that, Nat.”

Natasha smiled, but she kept quiet.

“And for the record, you _are_ more than just a tool. And you _are_  human, and one of the kindest, smartest and the most beautiful _human being_ I’ve ever known too. I _mean_ it, Natasha.” Steve said with as much ferocity he was capable of.

Natasha blushed, “I…uh…I’m not sure if I deserve all that, Steve.” She pulled her hand away from his firm yet not too tight grasp. And honestly, it surprised Steve that they had been holding hands for that long.

Steve sighed heavily, but commented no further.

_One of these days, I’m going to prove it to you, Nat. One of these days._

“I guess I’ve never properly thanked you before.” the spy said after a while.

“For what?”

“For saving me, back in New Jersey.” Natasha said.

Steve’s mouth opened in protest.

But she clamped her hand down onto Steve’s left bicep to shut him up.

“You _saved_ me, Steve, both physically and spiritually. You did. You saved my body from the building’s collapse _and_ you gave me a reason to live and to fight again. I owe you.”

Steve shook his head, “You would have done the same for me…and aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“Well, if it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve been dead a long time ago too. Both me and Sam.”

“When?” her brows creased.

Steve scoffed, “You saved our asses, Nat. And you don’t even remember.”

“Serves me right for hanging around the elderly so often. Seems like you’ve been rubbing off on me the wrong way.” She quipped.

Steve laughed, “Hilarious, Nat. And I was talking about the highway… Don’t you remember?”

“Okay… _seriously_ , old man. _What have you done to me??_ ” Natasha said in mock horror.

Steve let out a laugh, but his expression turned serious right after, “Sam was driving. And the Winter Soldier climbed on top of our car. I didn’t see his gun. So if you hadn’t pushed my head away to the side, my head would’ve been blown off right then. Sam’s too. You were amazing, Nat.”

“Oh, right, yeah… that. I remember now.”

“Try to keep it inside that beautiful head of yours would ya? If you forget about it again next time, God knows I might start pulling some grandma jokes on you too.” Steve quipped.

Natasha did not blush at the compliment. Nope. She definitely did not. She cleared her throat.

“Anyway. After the bunker, that talk we had back at Sam’s… That was the first time ever that you’d told me that you trust me, right to my face. It was the first time I felt so trusted by someone. And…it was also the first time I felt that there’s _value_ in my existence you know? Your words back then…they really gave me hope. Hope, that I’m still capable of bringing _good_ to the world. You have no idea how much your words meant to me back then, Steve.”

“I do now. And I meant what I said back then too. I trust you.”

“Thanks… and because having your trust is so important to me…. so when I snapped at you just now… it was because you said something that _might_ insinuate otherwise, and I just… _God,_ everything that’s been keeping me going until now…all my hopes and aspirations, they all stemmed from your words back then, Steve. So when you suddenly insinuated otherwise… it just felt like…it just felt like all my hopes were just crushed you know? Like…” Natasha sighed, struggling to find the right words.

Steve came to her rescue, “Hey. Hey, Nat. It’s okay. I understand. I get it now, I really do.”

The spy smiled her appreciation. The soldier felt compelled to say more.

“And again, for the record, having _your_ trust means a lot to me too…which was...” Steve looked down on the countertop in shame. _Oh…crap._ He wasn’t ready for this part of the conversation yet.

“Which was…?” Natasha prodded with a head tilt.

Steve sighed heavily.

“Which was why I compared myself to Bruce. I guess I had _hoped_ that you would have trusted me enough by now to let me in as much as you let…… _other_ …people in…”

Natasha sighed, “Steve…”

Steve shook his head and chuckled, but his eyes were sad.

Steve tried to look indifferent, and added a light shrug, “But hey… we both know that I was in way over my head…” Steve gave out a forced laugh, “plus, it’s not like you and I are, you know, _together_ or anything. So, _technically_ , it’s none of my business……and I have no right to pry or to expect anything from you……so……” Steve fiddled with the fingers on his uninjured hand, “there was something else…”

He paused and thought hard before picking up where he left off.

“Right! The eavesdropping! Ugh…” Steve grimaced, “I’m so sorry about that by the way… it won’t happen again, I promise.” Steve attempted a smile, “And hey, who knows, you might not even have to worry about that anymore. Cause you know, like you always said, maybe after a couple of years I can’t even hear that well anymore…being over a hundred years old and all that.”

Steve shuddered inwardly.

Oh God. Just kill him now. That sounded so lame that it should be a crime worthy of a death sentence. Just kill him now, somebody _._

“Steve, it’s not tha-”

Steve held up his hand to stop her from saying further, and for some reason, Steve just couldn’t stop talking from that point onwards, “Nat, no. Please. It isn’t your fault, okay? You don’t have to explain _anything_ to me. You don’t owe my anything. It was all me. I have no right to expect anything from you, Nat. I was out of line. _Waayy_ out of line. You trusted Bruce with your secrets and your heart, I get that, and I should’ve respected that. Ugh, no. That didn’t come out quite right. What I meant was, I _do_ respect that. I respect the bond you two shared with each other and the…. _feelings,_ you have for each other. And I know that the things that I’ve said just now, you know, while we were yelling at each other and all that……yeah, those things I said were disrespectful to your relationship, and I’m really sorry about that. But that was only because we were yelling at each other and I wasn’t totally in control of my emotions – again, my fault – so the things I said just now, they’re kinda like a heat of the moment thing. So I guess what I wanna say is that, despite how I acted just now, I _still_ respect the relationship between you two. And of course I shouldn’t have compared myself with Clint, Bruce and anyone else, really. You have every right to choose whom you wanna talk to or whom you wanna share your secrets with. I just don’t have a say in it. Yet I acted as though I have a say in it. So yeah…I’ve acted way out of line this time, I’m sorry. None of this is your fault though, this is all on me. And, I’m sorry about that eavesdropping thing back then too. That was also wrong of me, obviously. But just for the record, I only eavesdropped for less than 2 minutes of your conversation, I swear. I stopped listening the moment you told Bruce that Clint had no knowledge of what you had just shared with him. So… yeah, you probably wouldn’t have to worry about me knowing some of the things that you _don’t_ want me to know, because, like I said, I’d only listened for less than 2 minutes…Uh, all in all, yeah, I just wanna say that I really respect the relationship between you two. And I think that you two have a great thing going, I mean, uh…you and Banner have a special relationship, and you’ve found each other and I’m happy for you guys…really…… And hey! Maybe after this I could even help you track down Doctor Banner, I mean you’ve helped me with finding Bucky’s file and all that last time, it’s only right if I return the favor somehow. But then again, you’re one of the best spies in the world, why would you need me tagging along, you probably could’ve-”

Steve stopped rambling when he noticed Natasha’s very amused expression staring back at him.

God, the beautiful smirk was back again. It was the same smirk she had given him back at Barton’s farm a year ago, when she teased him about the ‘language’ thing (stupid Tony).

_“Steve doesn’t like that kind of talk…”_

_“You know what Romanoff....”_

That smirk almost undid him back then, and it was about to undo him now.  

“What?” Steve asked warily.

“Nothing. I just wanna see if you were ever planning to stop talking at some point…” Natasha said playfully.

“Right. Sorry. Go ahead. It’s probably your turn now…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

 _Don’t you know when to shut up, asshole? Idiot._ Steve chastised himself.

Her face turned solemn.  

“It was because I was afraid that I would lose you as a friend if I told you everything…” she began.

And just like that, Steve’s eyes shone in understanding as the revelation hit him like a tsunami, and it made him feel like a bigger asshole than he already thought he was.

He said nothing more.  

“I’ve done things, Steve. Despicable things. Some of which I’d rather forget… And I was just scared that after I tell you everything…you won’t even be able to look at me the same way anymore. That I’d lose you as a friend for good. Our friendship means a lot to me, I can’t lose that, I just can’t…” the spy bit her bottom lip in hesitation.

The soldier waited.

The bottom lip was released at the same time she took a breath.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to talk about it with you. I _want_ to. It’s just that…the more I come to value our friendship, the more I was scared of losing you. Every time, I would find myself not being _ready_ to talk about it with you, no matter how much I wanted to. And I didn’t think you would be able to understand even if I told you, because you are such a good person, Steve. I didn’t think that a person as good as you would even be able to accept the things that I’ve done in the past…”

Asshole didn’t even come remotely close to describing what Steve was feeling like right then.

The redhead continued, “But with Bruce, I was able to share, because, Bruce and I, it feels like we have...”

Only _then_ did the second tidal wave of recognition and understanding hit him, and it hit him _hard_. Just like that, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Steve tilted his head back and turned his head slightly to the side as he breathed in deeply through his nose. He understood now. He finally got it.

“Shared-life experience…” they both said in unison, completing Natasha’s previous sentence.

Natasha nodded and smiled wanly.

She lowered her head and went on, “And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel undervalued, or unappreciated, or if I’ve ever made you feel that I don’t value our friendship as much. That isn’t the case Steve, believe me.”

When Natasha stopped talking and glanced back up at Steve, she saw that Captain America was back. There it was, that look. The look of pure determination that had always given her hope, the look that had always driven her to be _better_ and to _fight_ harder for the good. The look which made her _stronger_ than ever. The look that had always _inspired_ her.

That look, which was Captain America’s superpower prior to the serum.  

That look which reflected the sheer power of his heart and the indomitability of his will.  

Natasha knew right then, that everything was going to be okay.

Because Steve would make sure of that.

He always did.

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. 
> 
> Okay...that was a super long one. Because I basically just put in a lot of effort to generate as much feels as I can. Hopefully, at this point, the reasoning, motivation and _driving emotion_ behind both Nat's and Steve's tirades were satisfactorily explained. This is a milestone. Because the scenes in this chapter is actually the first step they took to being together. The first step = confronting past issues. And as you've read, we can see that Steve and Nat both sat down and talk, and really tried to understand the reasons behind their own and each other's behavior. This chapter is a tiring write. It takes a lot of effort to find the logical framework and settings to create the right feels. But I feel that I have done my best. 
> 
> I hope that y'all enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment below. No matter how lazy you are, please just comment. I'd appreciate it a lot. One last thing, here's a little pop quiz for my dear readers:
> 
> Why do you think Nat reacted the way she did when Steve first made that comment about the nurse? She immediately glared at Steve at the mention of nurses. Why? 
> 
> Leave your answer together with your comments. 
> 
> Until next time.  
> Isaiah.


	17. Understanding, and Chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers. 
> 
> First and foremost, I would like to apologize for taking so long to update this time. It has been nearly a week (6 days) since my previous update, and I know that you guys must be used to me putting up quick updates. 
> 
> The truth is that I had fallen into a series of depressive episodes for the past 6 days. And yes, I am a patient of depression. I mean, after all, there has to be a reason why someone like **_me_ ** , who's never really written any fiction before this to start writing my own fiction. To be honest, I started writing fiction because I saw it as some form of escapism, ya know. It's like when I write, I can forget about my own shit for a while, and delve into the world of the characters. It really worked for quite a while. But these past 6 days I had no idea what happened. All I could do was stare at the blinking cursor. It's like I had a total burnout. I couldn't write a single word. 
> 
> Know what got me through? Reading through all your lovely and encouraging comments. At some point I realized that I didn't want to keep my readers waiting, so I began writing this chapter, and pushed through it. 
> 
> I hope that it lives up to your standards.

_“My atoms love your atoms, it’s chemistry.” – Atticus, Internet Poet._

 

* * *

 

Moonlight.

Most would concur with the sentiment of it being an integral part of nocturnal aesthetics.

Admittedly, its appeal most certainly did not originate from its physical appearance. In fact, the lunar landscape was anything but spectacular. It was pallid, wan, and _ashen._ Its surface was sickly, with little dark patches of grey splotched against pale white. Some would even deem it as ugly. Altogether, its entire countenance gave the impression of death warmed over; a little bit like the lifeless face of a leprosy patient, pale, with dark bumps and ridges spread all over it.

When it came to physical beauty, it certainly paled in comparison to other heavenly bodies which often adorn our night skies. It did not possess the dazzling brilliance of starlight, for instance. Nor could it sparkle or gleam like specks of diamond dusts against the voiding darkness of vacuum. Also, it had not the powerful energetic bursts of quasars. Nor did it possess the harlequin and specter-like silhouette of most nebulae floating in space.  

Oh, and it most certainly did not have a tail or grant the wishes of those who made them upon its presence.

Its appearance warranted no praise at all.

So where did all its virtue lie?

The first one had something to do with its _uniqueness_. Among the many billions and trillions of glittering beacons often seen scattered across the night sky, there could only be _one_ source of moonlight. There was a certain singularity in the existence of moonlight which ultimately rendered it quite noteworthy, despite the obvious lackluster in its countenance.

And then there was also the virtue of _distance,_ which largely had to do with the relative proximity of its source to the life on Earth. Just 238900 miles away. So near that it’d take light only a little over 1 second to reach the Earth’s surface.

Moonlight. Pale and ghostly moonlight.

A phenomenal phenomenon. An unorthodox beauty.

The moon was the night’s sun.

And its light? It was the night’s soul.

One undeniable truth about moonlight remained. Which was the fact that a certain _elegance_ graced its existence. Yes. Elegance. Within the endless braids of oscillating electric and magnetic fields which constitute moonlight, there lay _mathematical_ elegance. Mathematical beauty.

It was physics.

It was electromagnetism at play.

A physical exposition of the consistent laws of nature.

Yonder, up high in the Wakandan night sky, from 238900 miles away, endless rays of electromagnetic waves were bouncing off the lunar surface and propagating itself at 186282 miles per second. They pierced their way through the vacuum of empty space, all the way through the Earth’s atmosphere, and finally through the sliding glass door of the Royal Guest Suite in Wakanda, straight into the blue eyes of the supersoldier.

All that would happen within a time frame of 1.28 seconds.

So much elegance and beauty in just 1.28 seconds.

 

*     *     *

 

The moonlight wielded a certain power.

The power of revelation.

It could reveal, to the outsider, any nightly affairs happening within the walls of the Royal Guest Suite. As such, **_if_** any outsider were to externally peer in through the glass door, he or she would quickly notice that the couch facing the glass door was once again occupied by the soldier and the spy, their previous positions at the kitchen counter were abandoned.

They sat silently, each nursing their own thoughts; thoughts which the moonlight could not possibly reveal.

What else then, could the moonlight unearth to this hypothetical outsider?

The slight glitter of the shards of broken glass lying on the floor, for instance?

Or the rich crimson of congealed blood, splattered all over the same floor?

Or the magnificent gleam of the supersoldier’s blue eyes as he stared soullessly out into the night sky?

The suite was eerily quiet. The entirety of its space was dominated by a state of idleness.

Pretty much everything in it was stationary.

There were only two types of observable motion in the suite. The rhythmic rise and fall of chests. And the dancing shadows of tree leaves against the wall.

The shadows were decidedly the livelier of the two.

 

* * *

 

Steve Rogers gawked at the heavens, at the full moon; that big and round _object_ , hung up high in the sky like a pale disk. As if God had a vibranium shield of His own and had chosen to hang it up on His wall tonight.

It was a preposterous notion, to think that God (if He indeed exist) would require a vibranium shield to function. And even more preposterous was for him to think that God would follow **_Steve Rogers’_** example to get a shield in the first place. Hah. To think that _he_ , Steve Rogers, was comparing his own _puny_ self to God. What audacity!

Well, at least Steve knew that he had nothing on God.

_“Ugh! Captain America… God’s righteous man. Pretending you could live without a war…”_

Yeah. Steve Rogers had got _nothing_ on God.

Because Steve Rogers would never have the courage to hang up that shield.

 

*     *     *

 

The moonlight was like silent music (as silly as that might sound), a silent nocturne with soothing effects. Its gentleness soothed Steve’s troubled soul and freed his tumultuous mind.

If Steve was being honest, he’d tell you that he’d choose moonlight over sleep any time.

Moonlight was better than sleep, at least for people like him whose sleep were plagued with throes and anguish. The ghosts of his pasts still lived within his slumber, and hence, to him, dreamland bore much resemblance to a cemetery. A tomb, which contained the remains of all the people he’d lost and the _life_ he’d thrown away.

Steve Rogers hated sleep. Precisely because sleep felt very much like taking a tour through that tomb. And every time he went on that fucking tour, it felt as though he was reading every inscription carved on every grave stone.

It felt like hell.

It _was_ hell.

But moonlight was different. There was nothing sinister or morbid in good old moonlight. There was only the pale whiteness and the random blots of grey.

It was soothing, staring into the moonlight, with the moonlight shadows of tree leaves dancing all around him.

The soothing effect only lasted until a silly thought entered his mind.

Werewolves.

He’d actually thought of werewolves.

Fucking werewolves, in all their gory glory, howling on cliff tops under the full moon.

Where on God’s Green Earth did that thought even come from?

Pfft, well, he’d totally blame it on the Twilight movies Natasha had forced him to watch all those years ago.

The thought of werewolves spurred another unwelcomed notion in Steve’s mind. It was the notion of a _transformation._

Yes. Transformation. In the myths, werewolves were understood as humans who’d undergone a transformation from their human form into a wolf-like creature, typically in the presence of a full moon.

Which immediately had Steve thinking about the Hulk.

Wasn’t the Hulk similar to werewolves in a way? What with Bruce Banner turning green (sans the full moon requirement, of course) and all that? But even more spectacular, was the way in which Natasha could get the Hulk to actually transform _back_ into Bruce by engaging some form of _intimacy_ with said beast. At one point, Steve had even coined a moniker for those ‘intimate moments’ shared between Natasha and the Hulk.

The lullaby moments, he’d thus call them. But only because ‘the beauty and the beast moments’ seemed too much of a hassle to utter. 

Yeah. Such _fun_ thoughts, right?

Steve could still remember how she did it though, how Natasha had _tamed_ the Hulk.

She’d initiate physical contact, _intimate_ physical contact. They’d touch, the beast and her. She’d usually join their hands together, or sometimes give the beast a hug, or even a kiss on the hand. Then she’d proceed to whisper something to the green beast, sweet nothings, words of comfort, words of adoration, heck, words of _love,_ even. And then guess what? A few magical seconds later, the beast would actually calm down, transforming back into the sheepish doctor. Pfft, yeah, who needs anger management seminars when you have the beautiful Natasha Romanoff? If she could get **the friggin’ Hulk** to fall on his knees, then there’d probably be nobody on Earth who could resist her persuasion. Anyway, what happened after that point was usually the part where those two would start making gooey heart eyes at each other, and… oh ya’ know, those endless physical contacts he’d mentioned before? Holding hands… leaning snugly against each other… or, pfft. Whatever. Touching, hugging or kissing or other intimacy stuff, they could be doing anything they want, it wasn’t like Steve had any goddamn say in it anyway. But whatever intimacy that they’d partaken thus far, Steve was just damned glad that it didn’t involve ‘the Zucchini’ (stupid Tony and his stupid euphemisms).

Okay. You folks must be curious as to how Steve Rogers knew all these things, huh? Like, weren’t those supposed to be _intimate_ moments between the beauty and the beast? So how could the petty nobody Steve Rogers be privy to all that had transpired in those lullaby moments?

Well, for those of you who asked, do yourselves a favor and smack yourselves on your heads really hard. Pfft. I mean, come on. He was the leader of the friggin’ Avengers, people. Like as if he would leave one of his comrades to deal with the Hulk, _alone,_ without some sort of back up. Please. His Ma would probably roll over in her grave if he ever did that.

Leave no man behind.

Always have each other’s backs.

Those were his codes. His military codes.

See, the truth was, during every one of those lullaby moments, Steve would always be somewhere near, hiding in the shadows, with his shield ready to engage. Well, you could say that he had been waiting to swoop in and be the hero or whatever. But here’s the truth. He was worried, alright? Worried about her personal safety. The Hulk had nearly killed her aboard that Helicarrier the first time, for Christ’s sake. And Steve wasn’t about to let her deal with the Hulk alone, all by herself. He was ready to protect her with his life, even if it meant that he’d have to go up against the Hulk. On some days when he’d been exceedingly paranoid, he’d also ask Thor to standby somewhere nearby too, just in case.

Then again, it turned out every time that he wasn’t needed at all. Somehow, Natasha always had the beast under control. She literally had the beast eating out of her palms, _every damn time._ It was as if the beast adored her too. The beauty and the beast adored each other while Captain America silently watched from the shadows like the world’s greatest creep. Truly sounding more and more like the perfect beauty and the beast fairy tale wasn't it?

Just peachy.

Good for them.

The soldier shifted a little on the couch. And while doing that, he managed to sneak a few glances at the spy seated on his left. He noted the manner in which the spy settled herself on the couch, and was delighted to find that it was her ‘chillax’ posture. She had her back leaning snugly against the couch’s massive armrest and her body slightly angled towards his own. Her legs were extended out in front of her and crossed at the ankles.

Without much inhibition from his brain, his eyes traced the curves of her beautiful legs, all the way from the top of her waist to the spot where her toes rested just a couple of inches away from the outside of his left thigh. How nice would it be if her toes were actually touching him, running up and down along his left thigh…… Seriously, all he’d need to do was to shift a few inches to his left and they’d be touching. But that’d also be way too obvious.

Damn Wakanda and their stupid long couches.

On the whole, she seemed comfortable, and relaxed.

All good signs.

Suddenly afraid of being caught sneaking glances at the spy, Steve directed his gaze down towards his lap, at his hands. He noticed a loose thread hanging off the bandage on his right hand, the same one Natasha had used to dress his wound with. Using his thumb, Steve fiddled with it a little bit.

He thought back to the heartfelt conversation they’d shared fifteen minutes ago before they abandoned the kitchen counter and moved their party to the couch. That conversation had made him understood things, it had gotten him to see things from Natasha’s side, to understand all the emotions and motivations behind her unwillingness to reveal all her secrets to him. And, of course, it’d also done a great job of making him feel like a complete asshole for hurting her.

Yeah. He’d hurt her, all right. And all because of what? His petty jealousy.

From what the spy had told him before, the reason she’d never revealed any of her secrets to him was because she was scared. Afraid, of losing his friendship, of losing his trust. Admittedly, Steve had found a little bit of comfort in that, knowing just how much she’d come to value his trust and friendship, so much so that she’d go through such great lengths to protect her secrets by deflecting all his nosy questionings and poking for almost two years back at SHIELD.

But nevertheless, Steve also had this heart sinking feeling at her use of the word _friendship._ Friendship. Friendship. Friendship. Friendship. Friendship

Platonic friendship.

It greatly saddened him.

Because even when there was one thing about him that Natasha cared deeply about, it had only to do with his friendship, and not something more.

Because even while admitting that she cared deeply for him, he was still being friend-zoned.

She’d now drawn the boundary clear between them. She'd made it clear that close friendship was all they’d ever have with each other. Nothing more, nothing less.

Such a sad, sad and hurtful truth.

Then again, wasn’t he the same idiot who’d done the same thing to her inside that pickup truck he’d borrowed 2 years ago?

_“Who do you want me to be?”_

_“How about a friend?”_

Pfft.

What a total, fucking moron he’d been.

All in all, he felt better after their talk. And it certainly felt like they could go back to acting like how they’d normally do around each other. Only, this time, with much clearer insights into the other’s thoughts and feelings.

He was grateful for the increased understanding he now had with regards to his relationship with the redhead. He’d give anything to be able to understand her better, or to read her emotions better.    

Still, he’d wished that she would trust him more, that she’d trust him to not abandon her even after knowing all her dark secrets. But he knew that it wasn’t his call.

Natasha was her own woman.

Steve didn’t own her.

He never could.  

 

* * *

 

“You know, you still haven’t explained to me how you two ended up _whacking_ each other in Siberia.”

Her pointed question had the soldier stiffening in his seat immediately.

His thumb halted in its ministrations on the bandage.

The loose thread dangled limply off the edge of the fabric.

Steve drew in a shallow breath and stole a glance at his companion.

Much to his relief, the spy’s countenance showed no signs of distress or agitation.

She was looking back at him, but her eyes were soft and tender, like sparkling emeralds. Gone were the pair of glacial eyes he had seen back when they were spitting venom at each other. Her eyes were no longer a pair of green ice. They now held _warmth._  

Steve exhaled in relief.

At least he knew that their conversation probably wouldn’t end up in another yelling match this time.

But just to be on the safe side, Steve went for light humor.

“Uh, _actually_ , I was about to do just that…before _somebody_ got a little _…_ uh… _defensive_ , cut off everything I was gonna say, _and_ challenged me to a yelling match.”

His response caused Natasha to gasp in mock horror.

She playfully smacked his left arm with her foot.

A chuckle escaped the soldier’s mouth.

“Oww, hey! You’d hurt an old man?” Steve played along, trying as best as he could to prolong the teasing and banter. It was best if he could steer the discussion away from the direction he so dreaded. Seriously, after a night’s share of yelling and screaming, he really wasn’t game for having another conversation that could potentially blow up in their faces.   

“I will if you don’t start talking…” she teased.

Pfft. Yeah. So much for _that._ Seemed like they were going along with that talk after all.

Lord have mercy on his poor soul.

Letting out another resigned sigh, Steve steeled himself for the inevitable. He shifted and fidgeted slightly in his seat trying to find a comfortable position.

The spy watched him, half-amused, half-wary. 

Wanting to be able to see her face while he talked, Steve angled his body towards her and settled his left side against the couch’s back pillows. Steve’s eyes flicked to her lips just in time to see them configured into an attractive smile. He gulped at the sudden tightness he felt between his thighs.

Steve’s eyes left those lips quickly, and their eyes met across the length of the couch. He noticed that she looked even more relaxed and at ease now, all good heralds.

But the amusement in her eyes were gone, and was replaced by a questioning look; and a look of anticipation.

By the time he started talking, his face was grim.

“Once we were at the HYDRA facility… Zemo, that psychiatrist, he showed us a video footage of Bucky assassinating Tony’s parents. That’s what I’d been trying to tell you before, Nat, when I said that Tony’s completely lost it. He found out that Bucky was the HYDRA operative who murdered his parents… ” Steve shook his head, “Once the footage was out, it’s pretty much hell from that point onwards.”

Steve paused, wanting to give the spy some time to process his words.

Steve could almost hear the gears in her mind turning and meshing. He watched, closely, her face transitioning from one look to another as her mind fit the pieces together. Those beautiful emerald irises of hers swept from side to side in her eye sockets while she crunched away at the information he had just fed her. There was that enticing, and sexy (though involuntary) parting and closing of her lips as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place in her mind. By the time she closed her eyes and rested her chin on her chest with a sigh, Steve knew without a doubt that she had already gotten a pretty clear picture of what had transpired over the last 24 hours.

It took her merely 6 seconds.

The sheer intelligence and wit which Natasha possessed never fail to amaze Steve. Her mind was the second thing that attracted him to her. The first was of course her tantalizing physical beauty. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t physically attracted to her the moment he first saw her aboard the helicarrier 4 years ago. Heck, he had actually almost thrown in another 10 bucks to Fury because of her, but then in the end, he didn’t; he knew better at that time than to have Fury asking questions about his intentions towards one of SHIELD’s top agents.  

The next moment, Natasha glanced back up at him with a glint of excitement in her eyes. She looked like she wanted something from him.

“What is it?” Steve asked, half-amused at her look of eagerness.

Her lips twisted into a smile.

“Wanna try it like old times?” she asked back, causing Steve’s own eyes to broaden in recognition.

Steve chuckled.

“Well, I wouldn’t call that _‘old’_ … I mean, since the last time we did it was only like 3 weeks ago.” Steve said, half-expecting to hear another one of her old-man jokes popping up next.

Steve watched her lips, waiting for it to reconfigure into her trademark smirk. She’d always smirk whenever she poked fun at him. Always. Without fail.

That smirk would come. He just knew it.

_Anytime now…_

It didn’t.

_Huh._

She shrugged and spoke instead, “Well, Steve, considering the circumstances and what happened over the past few days…the team’s gone and all that. I think _old_ is the right word to capture the gist of things.”

_O…kay? No grandad jokes… how about that._

“You know, for a moment there, I thought you were about to crack another one of your old-man jokes. So you’re capable of some self-restraints after all. I’m impressed.” Steve deadpanned.

Only _then,_ did the smirk appear.  

“Oh I know how to cut _older people_ some slack at times… why else do you think it’s possible for Fury to have me around SHIELD for that long without losing his sanity?”

Steve laughed out loud at that.

Lord, this woman could crack him up like nobody else _._

He suddenly felt a little nudge on his left thigh. He peered to his side and saw Natasha poking his thigh with her…ohh-so-sexy right foot.

“So……you don’t want to? Old times?” she prodded.

Steve snickered at how cute she looked right then. She looked like a child asking her daddy for candy.

So many facets of this woman; and all of them so lovable too.

Jesus, was Steve Rogers ever in love with this woman. He loved her. God, he loved her so very much.

Ugh, once again, for the billionth time, he was beyond screwed; Steve Rogers was a ruined man.

With a light chuckle, Steve relented. Not that he’d stand a chance against the woman if he tried to resist, especially with how absolutely adorable she looked when acting like a petulant child.

“Alright. Sure. I don’t see why not. Ladies first.” he said.

Steve Rogers didn’t really believe in magic. But right then, he could’ve sworn that his previous words were the secret to some sort of spell, because the moment he said it, something _magical_ happened.

Natasha Romanoff’s face underwent a transformation. A beautiful transformation. A _magical_ transformation.

Boy oh boy, how he wished you folks could see her face right then, see her countenance gleaming in delight, coruscating dazzlingly, _ethereally,_ like a super quasar in the center of some galaxy.

Pfft, brightest object in the night sky, they say? Right now, Dog Star Sirius seriously couldn’t even hold a fucking candle to the incandescence of Natasha Romanoff.

That face of hers right then? God. It was astral. It was stellar. It’d light up the entire Universe. At least, it damn well just illumed the entirety of Steve Rogers’ little world.

So effing beautiful.

Hah! Admit it, folks. You’ve got a burr up your ass right about now, haven’t you? Indeed. Your curiosity must be killing you. You must be dying to know what this ‘old times’ must entail. In which case, you need not worry, because as you probably already know, Steve Rogers is _honestly_ honest to a fault.

He’d tell you all about it alright.   

Well, this ‘old-times’ was actually an old habit they had picked up ever since they were partnered up together in DC. It was sort of like a…theory building habit. A habit only made possible by the astounding chemistry which existed between the two of them in such great abundance. Usually, one of them would start with a sentence or two (well, sometimes phrases, but potato potahto) and then the other would pick up the sentence where the former left off, adding in extra points _or_ connecting the former’s train of thought. And then they’d repeat the cycle, with each of them picking up after the other’s sentences. Sometimes, they’d even complete each other’s sentences. Or, like it had so often happened, they’d even utter the same words at the exact same rhythm and at the exact same time!

Such they would continue, until they have a complete theory mapped out in front of them.

It was, figuratively speaking, a kind of dance. An _intellectual_ dance. It was _their_ dance.

Steve gotta admit though, it was pretty effective. They would often use the method to sift through intel, to check out new leads, and sometimes to discover missing links in existing leads. And the results were _very_ often fruitful. In fact, they had just done it 3 weeks ago back at the compound, which was kinda how they caught the lead which eventually led the Avengers to foiling Rumlow’s plans in Lagos.

“T’Challa said that Zemo wanted revenge against the Avengers.” Natasha started them off.

And so began their beautiful waltz.

Steve smiled and picked up after her, “Yeah, and so Zemo followed us, well, _me_ , to be precise. Studied us, analyzed us. He’d been doing that for quite a while ever since Sokovia. Eventually, he found out our weakness.”

Natasha crossed her arms across her chest and took a breath.

“He knew that there were really two factions within the Avengers all along. _That’s_ our weakness. He knew that you and Tony sometimes disagree with each other, and that at the same time, the two of you are also the alphas within the pack.” Natasha snorted lightly, “Two alphas within a pack, never a good thing.”

“Yeah, so he figured he could exploit that weakness and use it to get the Avengers to start killing each other.” Steve said.

“Right. Destroying the Avengers from the inside. But he still needed a way to get all the fighting started.” Natasha said.

“Which means that he needed to first find something to make Tony and I hate each other.” Steve continued.

“And to do that, he had to find something from your pasts. Both yours and Tony’s. Because although there were small disagreements or differences in worldview between the two of you, those still weren’t enough to get you two to start fighting. He still needed _something_. Something that can actually _trigger_ you and Tony to hate each other’s guts to the point of killing each other.” said Natasha

Steve’s face turned grim, “Zemo knew what he was doing. He knew what he was looking for. I really don’t think finding that trigger was much of a challenge for him, Nat. It’s so obvious. I’m like an open book.”

Natasha chuckled, and quipped, “An open _history_ book.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Very funny, Nat. Anyway, the connection between us wouldn’t be that hard to find.” Steve snorted, “I mean, just take a look at that massive billboard at the Smithsonian.”

Natasha smirked.

“Tony Stark and Captain America. Common denominator being Howard Stark. Which means, World War 2. Ergo, HYDRA. Ergo, the death of Tony’s parents by HYDRA’s hands. And then Barnes. He must’ve made the connection between Howard and Maria Stark’s assassination with Barnes. Barnes was the trigger.”

“Right. Howard was the missing link which connects my past with Tony’s. And Bucky was the trigger that Zemo needed to ultimately make Tony and I fight each other.”

“Makes sense. While Captain America would want to protect his old war buddy, Tony would wanna take Barnes into custody. A clash of interest.” Natasha commented.

Steve nodded, “But Zemo still had to figure out how to do that, I mean, how to use Bucky to get Tony and I to start fighting each other. Oh, _and_ also how to get the _other Avengers_ to join in the fight as well.” Steve said.

“But in his digging, Zemo must’ve also found out about the _reason_ for Howard Stark’s assassination…” Natasha resumed.

“That’s right. And HYDRA killed Howard because they wanted to get their hands on his little science project.” Steve said.

“The serum.” the spy added.

Steve went on, “Right. And from there, Zemo dug further, and eventually he knew enough about HYDRA’s Winter Soldier Projects. _Five_ extra physically enhanced super assassins, Nat. That’d surely be big enough of a threat to get all the Avengers' attention. The perfect tools he could use to lure the rest of the Avengers into his game.”

“Plus with Barnes’ close connection with the other Winter Soldiers…” Natasha caught on.

“Exactly. With Bucky’s close connection to the Winter Soldiers, Zemo knew he could have his work cut out for him, because he could find out more about the Winter Soldier Projects _through_ Bucky, which is convenient, since Bucky was already a key player in the game. One stone, two birds. And by then his board was set, he had identified all the pieces involved in the game. The next step would be to create the circumstances where it was possible for the two sides of the Avengers to start fighting each other.” said Steve.

The spy snapped her fingers, “He could lure _all_ the Avengers into one place using the 5 supersoldiers as bait. And when we’re there, all that’s left for him to do was to release his trump card…”

“Right. The video footage of Howard and Maria’s assassination. Which would pretty much guarantee Tony to hate Bucky.” Steve picked up.

“True. I bet Zemo must’ve known about the close relationship between Tony and his mother for him to know that it'd tick Tony off. By the time the footage was revealed, Tony would be consumed by vengeance.” Natasha conjectured.

Steve nodded, “Increasing the likelihood of Tony trying to kill Bucky.”

“And while Tony would try to kill Barnes, _you_ would try to save Barnes…” said the spy.

“Which would inevitably lead to a fight between me and Tony.” Steve continued.

“And this is the part where the alpha statuses of you and Tony come in… Zemo knew that there are members of the Avengers loyal to each alpha. And when the two alphas fight…” the brilliant red head went on.

“The followers would fight too…” Steve said.

“Which would ultimately lead to the Avengers fighting each other.” Natasha added.

“Voila. Luring the Avengers into one place and then get the two alphas to start fighting. Literally destroying the Avengers from within. The perfect setup.” Steve swept both arms across the space between them.

“But wait, even so, Zemo still had another problem though… a _big_ problem. I mean, before the Accords, the Avengers were still a team.” Natasha recommenced.

The soldier nodded.

“Right. Although each member of the Avengers has slightly biased loyalty towards each alpha, he realized that that’s not nearly enough to create an actual separation within the team. So in other words, it means that when the need arises, Tony and I could still put our differences aside to get the job done, it means the Avengers could still function as a team. But that’s not what Zemo wanted. He needed a separation within the team if he wanted his plans to work. He needed something that physically splits us into two sides, something that prevents the Avengers from working together at all.” Steve said.

The spy hummed her acknowledgement.         

“That was why Zemo had chosen now, of all times, to strike wasn’t it? He must’ve heard about the Sokovia Accords, and figured that the Accords provides _just_ the thing he needed for his plans to work: _the separation._ ” Natasha paused briefly before she scoffed, “Fucking Accords, literally had all his work cut out for him. Funny how luck always favor the bad guys.”

Steve snorted bitterly.

“God, I was such an open book, Nat. He knew that I wouldn’t sign…” Steve said, shaking his head.  

Natasha nodded, “And, obviously, those loyal to you probably wouldn’t sign too.”

“And with the Accords in action, it’s pretty much impossible for the Avengers to function as a team anymore. I mean, think about it, we were literally on two different sides of the _law._ Like it or not, that’s bound to stir up some major tensions within the team. _If,_ we _were,_ indeed, still a team after the Accords, that is.” Steve said sullenly, clearly still blaming himself for everything that happened.

“Well, as the signing of the Accords drew near, he knew he needed to act fast and kick start his plans.” said the spy.

“Yeah, and the first step would be to activate the trigger. He had to find a way to draw Bucky out of hiding.” Steve said.

“By bombing the UN in Vienna and framing Barnes for it…” Natasha picked up.

“Which was clever, because by impersonating Bucky and bombing the UN, _and_ also releasing Bucky’s photo into the press, he could get 7 billion people all looking for Bucky at the same time.” Steve added

“Right. With the help of 7 billion people, Barnes can be easily located because no matter how good he is at hiding, once the photo is released, people _will_ see him and call in the task force…” Natasha said.

“And also, because it’s Bucky…… Zemo knew that I couldn’t stay away. He knew that I would try to bring Bucky in myself…” said Steve.

“And if Captain America was involved...” said Natasha.

“…so would the rest of the Avengers.” Steve went on.

“And with the Avengers involved, Zemo could pretty much **_guarantee_** Barnes’ capture. Because it’s the Avengers. As good as Barnes was, he’s still no match against the Avengers. In other words, Zemo had the Avengers doing his work for him, he _used_ the Avengers to get to Barnes. By bringing Barnes into custody, The Avengers essentially brought Barnes right where Zemo wanted him to be.” Natasha carried on.

“Right. And all that he needed to do next was to find a way to sneak into Bucky’s holding cell to do his dirty work.” Steve said.

“And what better way to do that than to play the cover of a psychiatrist coming in for Barnes’ psych evaluation. He’s got all the privacy, all the time. No one would suspect him. Then he planned a blackout and activated the Winter Soldier.” the spy said. 

“Pretty clever too. By activating the Winter Soldier, he could find out where the 5 supersoldiers were kept _and_ at the same time-” Steve said before he was interrupted by the redhead.

“At the same time, he knew he could use the Winter Soldier to _feed_ the information about the 5 supersoldiers’ existence to us. Because Zemo knew that Barnes and the Winter Soldier partially share their memories.” Natasha said immediately.

“Right. He’d then order the Winter Soldier to fight his way out of his holding cell in Berlin.” Steve said.

“Creating a big ruckus, certainly enough to draw all our attention away from Zemo, since the Avengers would be too busy containing Barnes.” said the spy.

“Zemo then used the distraction to scram out of there…” Steve said

“Giving him a head start ahead of us to get to Siberia, where the 5 supersoldiers were kept. More than enough time for him to set the stage for our arrival at the facility…” Natasha said.

“He also knew that Bucky couldn’t run far. Because it’s the Avengers and the entire task force going after Bucky.” said the soldier.

The spy nodded her agreement.

“Either way, it was likely that Barnes would be apprehended again, and most likely by the Avengers.” said the spy.

“Bucky would then reveal to us whatever it was that Zemo had asked him when Zemo brought out the Winter Soldier.” said the soldier.

“Literally feeding the Avengers information about the 5 HYDRA supersoldiers through Barnes.” the spy said.

“ _Including_ the location where they are kept.” Steve carried on.

“And when the Avengers find out about the location, we would all head there, to take down the new HYDRA threat.” Natasha went further.

“Successfully luring all the Avengers into the same place.” Steve stated emphatically.

“And once we’re there, Zemo releases the footage.” Natasha said.

Steve nodded.

“Then we’d start to argue…” Natasha said.

“Voila. Avengers killing each other. Zemo’s perfect plan.” Steve said to conclude their waltz.

Actually, waltz was a little bit of an understatement. The whole thing was much more like some kind of… ** _verbal foreplay._**

And _damn_ was verbal foreplay the right phrase.

Because all of a sudden, Steve found his body to be in close proximity with the spy’s. Somewhere along their ‘theory building’, their bodies had drawn closer to each other. Natasha’s back was no longer leaning against the armrest, instead, she currently had her upper torso slightly leaned towards him. Her legs, which were originally stretched out in front of her in a laid back posture, were now bent at her knees like a seiza position with legs splayed leftwards. Their faces were close enough for Steve to feel the gentle caress of her breath against his throat. Try as he might, Steve couldn’t suppress the tingles of desire careening down his spine right then. He couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like if it were her lips in contact with his skin instead of just her breath.

She looked so beautiful. Never had Steve seen a woman this beautiful in his life, ever. So colossal was her beauty that it physically _pained_ him to not touch or kiss her right then. He was _aching_ , _dying_ , to pull her into his arms, to kiss her until she forgets her own name, to make her his, to stake _his_ claim on her. She stared back at him with those large green eyes of hers which were adorned by her thick, long eyelashes. Furthermore, the slight tousled look of her hair rendered her appearance infinitely more tantalizing, like as if she had just taken a quick tumble on a bed, or better yet, taken a quick tumble on _his_ bed. There was a stray lock of red hair, which had fallen over her forehead, covering half of her left eye. It took Steve every ounce of his superhuman strength to restrain himself from lifting his hand to push that stray lock away.

Maybe it was just him, but Steve could have sworn that there was also a certain glow on her face, like an angelic glow, making it infinitely harder for him to restrain himself from reaching out to touch her. Steve’s eyes flicked to her gorgeous lips. He noticed that she wore light pink lip stick instead of her usual red, and for a moment Steve also wondered about the kind of lip gloss she’d worn, because _damn_ … her lips just looked so glistened…and _satiny_ and…altogether just so…… _kissable._

Those beautiful lips parted slightly, and almost immediately, Steve saw the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips. He watched, in slow-motion, as the tongue glided over those lips, further glossing them up, moisturizing them. Steve could feel his restraints waning. His walls were fucking collapsing. He couldn’t hold back his attraction towards her anymore, he couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t.

For once, Steve decided to take a chance, to take that leap of faith.

He slowly leaned in.

Three things happened simultaneously the exact moment Steve started to lean in: her lips parted wider; she took a long, ragged and shuddering draw of breath; and her eyes fluttered close…

Almost as if…

_Is she anticipating this? Does she want this too? Well she hasn’t turn away yet…so…_

That thought seemed to stoke Steve’s courage even more.

 _That’s right, Rogers. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead._  

Well.

An inch. One single fucking _inch._

Steve’s face had only moved about an inch forward when Natasha suddenly cleared her throat and whirled her face away from his. Her reaction caused Steve to jerk back abruptly as if his face was burned, _burned_ by the flames by his own courage; like as if he had run face first into those damned torpedoes he mentioned earlier.

“Not bad old man… looks like you still haven’t lost your touch.” she said as she re-opened her eyes.

Steve exhaled as steadily as he possibly could, trying everything in his power to contain the disappointment settling at the pit of his stomach right then.

Their little moment was gone, again.

_Wait a minute. Not bad…?_

_Haven’t lost my touch…?_

_Wait. Did she just…? Is she…? Could it be? Could she be referring to my attempt at a kiss?_

All of a sudden, the disappointment dwindled, and was replaced by hope.

“Not...bad…what?” Steve asked anticipatorily. He held his breath and hung on for dear life as he awaited her answer.

“Well…I mean, I know 3 weeks isn’t really a long time, but still, I’m impressed that you still had it in you to keep up with me…” Natasha’s said in her teasing voice.

_What?_

_3 weeks?_

_What 3 weeks?_

_Keep up with her?_

_What?_

Oh. _Oh._

_The theory building._

_She was referring to the theory building, they did the theory building thing 3 weeks ago._

Right.

Steve’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.

_Moron, of course she was referring to the theory building. What else would she be talking about, huh? What? Like kissing you? She wants Banner, not you, you idiot. You’re a fool for getting your hopes up, Rogers. A fucking idiot._

Steve cleared his throat harshly, _twice_ , before he opened his mouth, because he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to keep the quivers off his voice if he didn’t. He gripped both hands into tight fists to hide the fact that they, too, were tremoring in disappointment and hurt. 

“Well, wouldn’t want to disappoint my partner, would I?” Steve said in a cheery tone which sounded forced even to the most dim-witted human on the entire planet.

 _Partners. That’s probably all we’ll ever be. That’s probably all she’ll ever see you as. Deal with it, Rogers._ Steve chided himself.

_My feelings don’t matter. I just want her to be happy… if I can only do so as her friend…then so be it. I’ll just have to find a way to deal with the hurt later._

He’d once said that the price of freedom was high. But now, he realized that the price of love was even higher, especially unrequited love.

 _Huh, even the monk idea doesn’t sound too bad now I suppose._ Steve scoffed inwardly. 

“Steve, you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah. I’m good, Nat.” Steve took a breath and glanced up at her with a tight smile.

Natasha narrowed her eyes skeptically, “You sure? Because you’re doing that hand-clenching thing again.”

“Huh? Am I?” Steve glanced down at his hands before throwing her a sheepish look, “Oops, guess I am…” Steve quickly unclenched his fists.

Natasha arched her eyebrows, “And…? Why would you clench them?”

Steve shrugged off her question without answering.

Her eyes shone in mischief in the next instant.

“It’s not another one of your masochistic instincts, is it? I mean…there’re still some shards lying around on the kitchen counter if you’re interested. You can go ahead and squeeze the hell out of them if you want. Who knows you might actually be able to _get off_ this time.” Natasha sassed.

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes, “ _No._ Been punching a lot of people these days in case you haven’t noticed, so the fists clenching’s probably becoming like a habit I guess. And _again_ , for the last time, I am _not_ into masochism.”

“If you say so Cap…” Natasha drawled playfully.

Steve sighed his resignation. _I’m never hearing the end of that…ever._

The concern returned to her voice when she spoke next.

“Is it the wound? It’s not hurting again, is it?”

“No. No. The wound’s fine. And thank you, by the way. For patching the hand up.”

“Well, can’t exactly let an old man bleed to his death can I? ‘Cause last time I checked, that’s definitely no material for squeaky-clean ledgers.” Natasha said with a sardonic smirk.

Steve tensed up at the mention of her ledger, but decided to leave it as an argument for another day. He felt exhausted, drained, both physically and emotionally.

They both sat in comfortable silence.  

“It all sounded perfect on paper…” Natasha said all of a sudden.

“What’s that?”

“Zemo’s scheme. From what I gathered, it didn’t really end up the way he might have wanted it to.” Natasha surmised.

“I guess not. Well, the Avengers did fight each other, yes. We fought each other at the airport. But none of us died. And plus, although we did fight each other, it wasn’t exactly in the circumstances where Zemo might have originally planned it.” Steve said.

“Right. Not all of the Avengers went to the HYDRA facility. Only the 3 of you key players were there.”

“Well, he _did_ manage to tear the Avengers apart in the end. But I’m not exactly sure if Zemo would count that as a win though. He claims he just wants revenge and nothing else… but I don’t know…” Steve said.

“You think there’s more?” Natasha questioned.

Steve paused for a moment, seemingly thinking hard about something.

“Do you know that he blew up the chambers?”

“Yeah. T’Challa told me about that during my car ride here. But I found it weird to be honest. It’s a little unnecessary.”

Steve shook his head, “I don’t like it. If he just wanted revenge against the Avengers, why bother? I mean, blowing the chambers up did nothing to further aid his revenge after all. It’s not like destroying all the Winter Soldiers would suddenly make the rest of us wanna kill each other more.”

“Maybe to him the Avengers and the HYDRA are the same thing, threats that need to be destroyed. And while he tried to destroy the Avengers, he also thinks he’s doing the world a favor by destroying HYDRA’s experiments along the way? You know… like one of those ‘nice’ guys who think they're right and ended up doing bad things with good intentions?”

“A nice guy who would set up a bomb in public to kill innocent people just so he could, what? Do the world a favor?” Steve said skeptically.

“Point.” Natasha conceded.

“I think he’s hiding something.” Steve said.

“Any ideas?”

Steve gave a light shake of his head, “Not at the moment.”

“But T’Challa said he attempted suicide though.” Natasha reassured.

“Yeah. And to be honest, that’s the only reason I’m not totally freaking out over this right now.” Steve said smilingly.

“Not much we can do for now other than to keep our eyes open.” said the spy.

Steve sighed.

“This guy tried to play us all, Nat, and he nearly succeeded. I still can’t believe it. We were literally just _pawns_ in his scheme.” Steve said in a tone of disgust.

“For what it’s worth, Steve, his scheme was still flawed in the end, however clever it might be. Like you said, the pieces didn’t really fall into place. Everything that he had planned, ya’ know…like getting all the Avengers into one place, and having the Avengers kill each other and all? None of that actually pan out in the end.” Natasha remarked.

Steve nodded, “Yeah. Because the playing field turned out to be much wider than he’d thought it would be. There were some _unforeseen_ players dragged into the game.”

“T’Challa. And the Spider kid.” The brilliant spy caught on instantly.

“Yeah. The involvement of these players, especially T’Challa, altered the dynamics of the game entirely.” Steve said contemplatively.

Natasha nodded, “Agreed. If T’Challa wasn’t dragged into this mess, you wouldn’t have taken Barnes away from his Berlin holding cell..."

For a moment, Steve stared at the spy in mild shock.

Natasha snorted, "What? You think you're being subtle? I know you, Steve. You were trying to separate Barnes from us. Because you knew T’Challa was trying to kill him."

Steve smiled sheepishly and shrugged, "Well, you got me there."

"In a way it's good, I guess."

"Yeah?"

Natasha nodded, "Yeah. I mean, if you hadn’t taken Barnes away, things would have gone exactly as Zemo had planned. Barnes would have revealed the location of the HYDRA facility to _all of us_ and not just to you and Sam. And then all of us would’ve gone to the HYDRA facility together, as a team. That's just what Zemo had planned for. To put all of us in one place.”

Once again, Steve was amazed to the hilt by the sheer intelligence which the spy possessed. It was simply sensational how quickly her mind could utilize new information to form new connections and to construct the big picture. She really was an exceptionally brilliant woman. She excelled in both the brains and looks department. She was the whole package. Christ, she was so fucking attractive. 

After a while Steve realized that he must be staring in awe at her for too long because her brows suddenly furrowed into a frown.

“What?” she asked warily.

Steve shook himself out of it and threw her a smile, “No, nothing. It’s just… you amaze me.”

“Why Captain…. I’d tell you that flattery gets you nowhere, but do go on…” Natasha smirked.

“Gee, I thought only Tony has the ego.”

“Oh everyone has an ego, Steve. Stark’s is just exceptionally big. Well unlike Stark’s ego, mine still needs a little bit more stroking. So, by all means, **_stroke_** ahead.” she said with a salacious wink. And nope. He didn’t miss the double entendre at the end.

Steve’s smile widened into a grin, “It’s just…you never cease to surprise me. I’m always impressed by how smart you are, Nat. Even after all these time……” Steve let out a breathy chuckle, “Well I guess what I’m trying to say is that I thought I would have known fully by now, how smart you really are…I mean I’ve been working together with you for so long…but time and again, you still manage to surprise me by surpassing my expectations… so…”

Realizing that he was rambling again, Steve quickly cleared his throat.

“Well, you’re a really, really, smart woman, Nat.” Steve stated finally.

“I’d have to be if I were to survive in the big bad world. Besides, you’re not so bad yourself………” Natasha said, causing Steve to arch his brows at her, as if he was waiting for her to complete her sentence. The punch line was coming… he knew it. He just knew it.

And she didn’t disappoint.

She smirked, “… for an old masochist.”

 _That’s my girl._ Steve chuckled.

“But you’re still missing something, Nat.” Steve taunted playfully.

“What?” She frowned deeply.

Steve could tell that she did not like what he had just said. Nope. Not at all.

Which made taunting her even more fun…

“When we talked about unforeseen players or unforeseen circumstances, you only mentioned T’Challa and that kid from Queens…… you’ve missed quite a few spots so it seems…” Steve goaded.

She was tilting her head now, and her frown deepened.

 _Oh she definitely doesn’t like to be at the receiving end of her own game does she?_ Steve thought amusingly.

“What else is there?” she asked in a controlled and nonchalant voice. But he knew her well enough to know that her nonchalance was forced.

Steve lifted his head up to stare at the ceiling, pretending not to hear her question.

 _Payback is sweet._ He thought, barely able to contain the smile on his face.

“What?” Natasha prodded, her voice slightly impatient this time.

Steve continued his inspection of the ceiling and ignored the spy.

“ _What_ is it? _Tell_ me.” He felt her foot kicking his thigh. He said nothing, still smiling at the ceiling like an idiot.

“Rogers!” she kicked his arm forcefully.

Steve lowered his head and looked at her, “What? Aren’t you gonna tell me that you only _act like_ you know everything this time? If you say it nicely, I might consider dropping a couple of hints for you.”

Natasha glared at him.

_Cute glare…but sorry Nat, ain’t gonna cut it._

The soldier didn’t yield. To him, watching her squirm was just too amusing. It wasn’t every day that one gets to see the great Black Widow squirm, so he’d damn well prolong the entertaining experience as far as he could.

“ _Rogers…_ Don’t make me hurt you.” the spy warned.

“Ooh, so that’s how it is huh? If that’s the case, then, I’d certainly like to see _you_ try…” Steve taunted the spy.

“I’m warning you, Rogers. If you don’t tell me right now… I _will_ hurt you.” another warning from the spy, which seemed a lot like a final warning, but Steve was having too much fun right then, _way_ too much fun.

Steve threw her a smug look in return before he went back to scrutinizing the ceiling.

All of a sudden, he felt her weight shift on the couch. Then the next second, he caught another whiff of her floral scent again, but the scent was _a whole lot_ stronger this time, which could only mean one thing, that she was…physically closer to him.

When he felt her weight settling on both of his thighs, Steve’s gaze left the ceiling so fast that he swore he could have given the late Pietro Maximoff a run for his money. What Steve saw next was what he would consider as the sexiest look he had ever seen on any woman on the entire goddamn planet. Bar. None. Oh Lord… that seductive glint in her eyes was there again, the same look that had his blood running south every time. Her head was slightly lowered, so that she was eyeing him through her long eye lashes. And her eyes, God, her eyes…were oh so big, and sharp, and fiery, and determined. Her lips, Christ. Those sexy and juicy lips of hers nearly had him swooning in his seat. Her signature smirk formed on those lips first…before they too, decided to pitch in and add to his torture. Torture? Understatement of the _millennium._ Because the smirk slowly morphed into something else, something infinitely more tantalizing. Her lips parted slowly, and before Steve knew what hit him, the bottom lip was rolled into her mouth with her upper incisors pressed firmly onto it. The minx was fucking biting her lower lip.

 _Heavens above…_  

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph.   

And oh yeah, by the way……she _was_ physically closer to him all right? _Too close_ , in fact. So close that she was basically sitting on his lap with both her knees planted beside his thighs.

Good God.

Natasha Romanoff, the woman of his dreams, was _straddling_ him, with her thighs parted, and with their groins touching through their clothing.

_Oh…Christ…_

All of a sudden, the soldier didn’t feel so smug anymore. He could barely breathe.

“N…Na…Nat? Wha…what are you do- doing?” He managed to croak out.

“Hey handsome……” came her throaty reply.

Steve gulped.

“Na-Nat… thi- this isn’t funny.” he stammered.

Natasha said nothing. What she did next sent a dizzying jolt of desire straight to his core. And _boy_ did she ruin all other women in the entire universe for him, utterly _._ She slowly lifted both her hands to tousle her hair and then proceeded to give her head a light shake in order to loosen those beautiful long tresses of hers, an act which nearly had Steve choking on his own saliva. Both of his hands were clutching so hard at the poor cushions that he was pretty sure that the covers were already ripped apart. He had already destroyed one rocks glass, and it seemed like he was about to add more items onto that list (perhaps his suddenly-very-tight dress pants would be next on the list). The spy did a sexy hair flip and angled her head to her right, causing her long fiery auburn locks to gather on one side of her head. And no, her little hair show there wasn’t the end. Oh, no. Not even close to the end. She wasn’t done yet, far from done.

She _moaned._ She fucking moaned. And _then_ she caught her lower lip with her teeth again.

God Almighty. This had to stop. Or else sleeping would be the last thing they’d be doing tonight.

“Nat…This isn’t funny… Please…stop… _Please…_ ” Steve downright _begged._

Her right index finger found his lips, and it took Steve _everything_ , _every_ goddamn fiber of his being not to suck that beautiful finger into his mouth.

“What is it? What is the other thing I’d missed? What else did Zemo fail to foresee…? Tell me…soldier.” Natasha said huskily.

“Name. Steven Grant Rogers. Rank. Captain. Serial number. Five-four-nine-eight-five-eight-seven-zero.” Steve’s voice was on edge.

He didn’t know what possessed him to rise up to her challenge, he really didn’t. Maybe he was enjoying this seductive play of hers more than he ought to. Not surprising, given how majorly turned on he was right then.

Her finger slowly trailed from his lips down to his massive pectorals, and followed a straight line down his rock hard abs. The finger hooked itself at the waistband of his dress pants, right where the button was.

“Tell me… handsome. What have I missed…?”

“Name. Steven Grant Rogers. Rank. Captain. Serial number. Five-four-nine-eight-five-eight-seven-zero.” Steve answered back, determined not to give in.

Big mistake.

Big, big, _big_ mistake.

Feeling provoked, Natasha leaned forward, pressed her ample breasts against his chest, and brought her mouth next to his ear. The movement caused the junction of her thighs to rub sweetly against his already hardened member. Her breath against his ear brought violent shivers down his spine.

She let out another moan, which Steve would swear on his Ma’s grave that it was the sexiest sound he had ever heard coming from a woman’s mouth. And it didn’t fucking help that the source of the sound was mere _millimeters_ away from his ear.

_This is it. This is the end of the line. I’m gonna die right here, right now._

“Come on…my handsome soldier… tell me huh? What did I miss? Please…?” she _purred_ , _right into_ his ear.

Oh shit. He was so gonna die.

He could take any forms of interrogation. Torture chamber. Drugs. Truth serum. He could take it all. 

But  _this!_ **THIS,** was in a completely different league.

And it was happening to him right now. Oh God, it was happening. The one interrogation technique which Captain America couldn't best. And it was happening to him, in  _spades._

Fuck his life.

Or rather, fuck _**her.**_ Yeah, pretty sure that fucking her would take care of all his problems right now, every _single_ one of em.

Steve made a final attempt, “N-name. St-Ste-Steven Gra-Grant Rogers! F-five-fou-four-nine-EIGHT-fi-five-ei-eight-SEVEN-ZERO!”

“Oh…you are a very, very, _very_ handsome man…Steve…” she lowered her lips to his neck, but she didn’t kiss him. She huffed a trail of air from his ear, down his neck, stopping at his shirt collar and all the way back up again.

“But you’re also a very, very, _naughty_ soldier…” she bit down on his earlobe.

Steve groaned.

“Do you yield, soldier?” her hands settled themselves on both of his thighs, rousing a jolt of heat straight to his core, and a mighty _spasm_ along his entire member.

“I-I ca-can do this ALL d-day…”

Both her hands were sliding up and down along his inner thighs now, “Do you yield now, handsome?”

Boy, he was this close to creaming his pants right then. So fucking close.

“L-like I sa-said… all da-day…”

“Yield…soldier…” she took his earlobe between her teeth once more and let out another sultry moan into his ear…

Steve let out a growl and felt his eyes roll to the back of his head.

That was it.

Steve couldn’t take it anymore.

One more second of this torture and he was gonna rip her clothes off and make her scream his name so loudly that her voice was bound to be heard by every single person in Central Wakanda.

“OKAY! OKAY! I’ll tell.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” her voice was back to normal, but her lips were still in close proximity to his ear.

Steve couldn’t speak… heck, he could barely breathe.

“What’s the matter soldier? Cat got your tongue?”

Steve glared at her, “ _No._ But a spider did.”

If only his voice was as resounding and steady as his glare. If only.

Natasha straightened up, her signature smirk in full display on her beautiful face.

“Please, Nat. You can stop torturing me now…I’ll tell you.” Steve closed his eyes and took a _deep_ breath.

Natasha slowly slid off her straddling position and plopped down onto the seat beside him.

And do you folks wanna know what actually happened right after she slid off him? 

See? _**T** **his**_ was what happened. Steve actually found that he _missed_ the close proximity they had shared just milliseconds ago. He missed her warmth, he missed the feel of her thighs straddling him, he missed her breath in his ear, he missed her scent wafting right under his nose. He missed the feel of her finger on his lips, on his pecs, his abs… He missed everything.

He was fucking screwed.

He was never ever gonna feel attracted to any other woman ever again.

God, he was so cooked. He was officially MONK-ed

“Good. I’m glad that we have now reached an _UNDERSTANDING_. Now, talk.” said the spy, her tone back to business.  

If there was one thing that Steven Grant Rogers learnt that night, it was this:

Do not mess with the Black Widow, **_ever,_** not even if your life depended on it.

Steve Rogers learnt that lesson the _HARD_ way. And quite literally too, if his crotch had any say in the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go my dear readers. 
> 
> I hoped you'd enjoyed this chapter. I've put in quite some effort into it. And I hope that everything was to your liking. 
> 
> This chapter was mainly about my interpretation of the events that happened in CACW. This chapter contained my own analysis into Civil War's events, it's me trying to make logical sense of Civil War's plot. And I hope that I'd done with sufficient detail and with sound logic. 
> 
> How do you guys find this chapter? Please let me know in the comments below. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> Isaiah.


	18. Sleepover

_“Marriage is getting to have a sleepover with your best friend, every single night of the week.” – Christie Cook._

 

* * *

 

That night, Steve Rogers did something he had never thought he’d do again ever since the serum.

He gasped.

He _gasped_.

For _air_.

He had to _fight_ for breath.

He _hyperventilated._

God, it was like one of those goddamn asthma attacks all over again, where he couldn’t even climb up a flight of stairs without feeling like he had a collapsed lung.

Awful, awful times indeed.

His fingers dug into his knee caps. His knuckles turned blood-less white. 

His lungs felt as though they were furnaces, with every intake of oxygen stoking the inferno within, fueling the burning sensation he was feeling within his thorax.

And he was damn near the point of _wheezing._  

He was drowning.

Drowning in love.

Drowning in lust.

Drowning in _her._

Steve Rogers had honestly _never ever_ felt this way because of a woman before.

Because of asthma, yes.

But never because of a woman.

Not even Peggy Carter.

 

* * *

 

“Need a medic?”

Oh, that was _rich._

And _funny_.

So damn funny.

To think that he was now at the receiving end of that same taunt _he_ , the little shit that he was, had thrown out to Sam 2 years ago.

To think that he’d one day have his very own words, his very own barbs, thrown right back into his face, just like that.

How fucking _rich._

And it’d taken one hell of an amazing woman to accomplish that.

It’d taken one beautiful Natasha Romanoff.

Only her.

Okay. At this point, it would be apt to say that Steve Rogers did _another_ thing that he never would’ve thought of doing for as long as he was alive.

He stole Sam’s line, and added his own flavor to it.

This was, decidedly, one thing Sam Wilson could never _ever_ find out.

“I think I need a new set of _lungs_.” Steve said in between pants, and, despite his breathlessness, he managed a little smirk, “…and perhaps a CPR.”

Natasha Romanoff smirked back, “I asked you to talk, not flirt.”

“Can’t really talk if I’m hyperventilating, can I?”

“If that’s your way of asking me to play nurse for you again, Rogers. Then I’d suggest you stop. Because if there’s any chance I’m donning a nurse costume for you, it’d be to _hurt_ you, not to cure you…” the spy quipped saucily with a salacious wink.

The soldier’s heart skipped a good 2 beats.

_Not helping, Nat. So not helping._

Steve cleared his throat and muttered, “Yet you’re the one who’s always pushing me towards a certain _nurse._ ”

Daggers shot out from her eyes.

The spy glowered.

All the teasing were banished from her eyes all of a sudden.

_Huh. Could it be that she’s-_

He was interrupted by Natasha’s clipped voice before he could finish the thought.

“What hadn’t Zemo foreseen? What did I miss?”

“Look, Nat. I’ll tell you… I just… I need a minute.”

She looked away.

“Fine, you got a minute.”

“Thanks.” Steve said drily, amused by the fact that he was _thanking_ her for giving him time to recover, considering that it was **_because of her_** that he was in this predicament in the first place.

 _Is she upset?_ He thought as he sneaked glances at her.

No. She looked composed and calm and-

Crap. She caught him staring.

Their eyes met. And the teasing glint was back in the pools of emerald once again.

_Huh???_

God, why did women have to be so goddamn _confusing_? He was pretty sure she’d been a little upset just seconds ago.

“I gotta say though, Cap. I’m impressed…”

“Yeah? With what? My hyperventilating skills?” Steve asked drily.

She chuckled.

“No, you _dork._ I mean with the way you handled yourself just now. While I was…” Natasha shrugged, “ya know…”

“What? You mean when I got caught up in a spider’s web and was reduced into a whimpering mess? Yeah. Sure. That’s impressive.” Steve said sarcastically.

The spy smacked her feet against his left arm.

“Stop being such a dork.”

Steve chuckled.

“Well, I honestly don’t know what’s there to be impressed about, Nat. But, thanks.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and snorted, “Please. What you’d experienced just now… I was pretty much going at it with everything I’ve got. Most guys couldn’t even last 5 seconds. Yet you’ve lasted a good 6 minutes.”

_Yeah…and it nearly killed me._

“Good to know.” Steve said, finally feeling his breaths evening out.

All of a sudden, the spy whisked her head back to face him, like as if she came across a thought.

And Steve quickly noticed the different light held in her beautiful irises.

It was, for the lack of a better term, _weird._

For a moment, Steve thought her eyes looked _softer_ than usual.

Her eyes were full of _emotions_ ; emotions, which he, admittedly, couldn’t quite get a good reading on.

Well, okay, he was pretty sure that it wasn’t amusement, and it wasn’t teasing either. Pfft! Like as if **_he_** wouldn’t recognize how _those two_ would look like in her eyes.

Huh.

What about anger? Was it anger? Nope. He was pretty sure it wasn’t. Mainly because if she was really angry, he’d probably already be down on the ground with a broken neck.  

Sadness? Was that it? No. Pretty sure it wasn’t.

It was just… _something._

Argh. Fuck. He had no idea. He didn’t even know why he even _bothered_ to try to get a read on  _THE_ Black Widow's emotions. Surely, _nothing_ could be more futile than that.

Damn those superspy skills.

And then out of nowhere, she spoke in a low whisper, “You’re a really good man, Steve. Honorable. And gentlemanly.”

It was right then that everything just clicked.

Holy shit.

It was admiration.

That look in her eyes, it was _admiration._

Admiration.

Holy Christ. He’d honestly never seen her looking at him like that before. Not even during that time when she’d woken up in his arms while he carried her out of that rubble they used to call Camp Leigh.

But why was she looking at him like that? What the hell did he do? What did it even mean?

Surely it wasn’t because he’d tried to kiss her before… was it?

Pfft. Yeah right. If it was truly because she liked the fact that he tried to kiss her, then why wouldn’t she, _ya know_ , lean in and actually _kiss_ him? If she liked his initiative then why wouldn’t she give in to the kiss? Why would she deny him by turning away? Hell, he’d bet all his damn chips that she wouldn’t even _acknowledge_ their little moment from before, if he ever had the balls to bring it up.

And what’s weirder was the manner in which her praise was uttered.

Her praise came out with such _earnestness_ that it damn near had Steve doing a double take.

And where did that praise even come from?

Fuck. He really didn't have a damn clue, did he?

Why would she suddenly _praise_ him?

Jesus. Ugh.

_Women are so goddamn complicated._

Ugh.

Just what the heck was going on in her head?

Ugh.

_Think, Rogers, think!_

Ugh!

What did she say again? That he was honorable? Gentlemanly?

His inner sarcasm downright squawked at that.

Honorable? Gentlemanly? Hah! 

_Trust me, Nat. You won’t say that if you had just the slightest clue of the things I was thinking of doing to your body while you were straddling me._

He cleared his throat.

“What makes you say that?” Steve queried instead.

The look of admiration in her eyes heightened when she spoke, “Well, most guys would’ve at least _tried_ to touch me after the first 5 seconds. But you didn’t even lay a hand on me for the entire 6 minutes…”

She paused and stared at him.

He waited.

A small smile formed on her lips.

“You kept your hands to yourself…” She said in slight disbelief.

 _And the poor cushions paid the price…_ Steve thought wryly.

“Well…I’m just…not that kinda guy….I’m not a man who would take advantage of a woman like that _._ ” Steve said, his breathing and heart rate almost back to normal now, finally.

“My point exactly. Good and honorable man.” praised the spy.

Steve smiled back.

“Hey, tell you what. Next time I’m stupid enough to withhold information from you again? Do us both a favor and tase me with your gauntlets. Maximum charge. Or hit me real hard on the head, whichever that works.”

Natasha smirked, “Your one minute’s up. _Talk_.”

“Jesus, Nat. You really don’t know? I mean you’ve had no problems putting everything together so far.”

“ _Rogers_ …” her voice was on edge again.

Steve sighed, and then he smiled dreamily at her.  

“It was you.”

The spy’s face scrunched up in bewilderment.

“What?”

Sensing her confusion, Steve clarified, “The one last detail Zemo had failed to foresee was _you_.”

Her brows creased further into a deep frown. Steve’s eyes raked over the outlines of her facial muscles just above the bridge of her nose. The muscles were taut, and tensed into a series of lines which ran from her forehead and her nose. The whole configuration resembled mini mountain ranges. Mini mountain ranges made of flesh and skin.

She was beautiful.  

“I…I don’t understand.” Natasha stated, shaking her head lightly.

Steve rolled his eyes. He was right all along. She really was _incapable_ of seeing her own worth. She could see everything else with spot on precision, yet when it came to something good that she had done, she would dismiss it or sometimes even fail to acknowledge it.

One of these days he was gonna change that. Just watch him.

Steve sighed, “Zemo miscalculated. He made the mistake of failing to understand your role on the team. That’s the biggest thing that had gone wrong in all his plans.”

“My…what? What have I got to do with anything?”

Jesus Christ. He was right all along about the Red Room putting a goddamn shade over her eyes. She just couldn’t see. She just couldn’t _see_ the good in herself.

Those bastards.

Steve took a deep, calming breath to tamp down his rage.  

He said, “Jesus...Are you kidding me?  _Everything_. It’s got to do with everything. You're the reason Zemo’s plans failed.”

“Okay… how?”

“Zemo never foresaw your role as a peacekeeper on the team. He probably thought you'd be a Beta who’d pick sides, a Beta who’d pick between one of the Alphas. But he was _wrong_. Because he failed to see your inner good. He underestimated you.”

“What do you mean?” asked the spy, still failing to grasp the point.

“Well, Zemo thought that every Avenger was loyal to either me or Tony, right? He assumed that to be true for everyone on the team. He assumed that everyone on the team _will_ pick sides when the circumstances force them to. But what he'd failed to see, was that **_you_** stood on neither side. You didn’t actually pick sides, Nat. Instead, you’ve played a reconciliatory role in this whole incident. Look, you said it yourself. You wanted to keep the Avengers safe. You were the one who was trying everything in your power to keep the team together. **_You_** were the only one Avenger who was trying your best to keep us from killing each other. See? Your actions weren’t guided by a sense of loyalty to an alpha, like what Zemo had thought they’d be, but instead, your actions were guided by the need to ensure the general well-being of the whole team. Natasha, from the very start, you knew what’s best for the whole team. And your actions were in the best interests of the whole team. You were the voice of reason. And  _ **th**_ ** _at’s_** what ultimately saved the team. Do you see now?” Steve explained lengthily.

Natasha stared blankly at him.

Steve went on, “Think about it… what do you think would have happened if you hadn’t helped Bucky and I escape back at the hangar?”

“Well…the fighting would…continue…?” Natasha drawled.

Her jaw went slack. And her eyes widened slowly as she finally began to understand what Steve was getting at.

“Exactly. By letting us go, you managed to stave off the fighting somehow. You had taken one alpha away from the scene at the airport. And the fighting pretty much ended right then. Sure, the Avengers still suffered some damages, but don’t you think it would be much, much, much worse if Bucky and I had stayed behind and the Avengers continue to battle each other?” 

Natasha nodded but said nothing in response.

“Nat, if you hadn’t played your role back then…Zemo would have achieved his objective regardless of whether everything went according to his plan or not. He would’ve won either way, because the prolonged fight would’ve resulted in much more casualties than what the team currently suffered. Worst, some of us might even end up dead, and that’s _precisely_ what Zemo wanted, he wanted the Avengers dead. In a way, you saved the team, Nat. You saved the Avengers.” Steve praised.

Natasha cleared her throat, “I’m sure that’s overstating things… I was just…looking out for the team. It’s…it’s no big deal.”

Steve nudged her feet with his thigh, “My point exactly. Zemo hadn’t expected you to be that person, to be the mediator. That’s what ultimately saved the team from something far worse. You saved the team, Nat. The team…” Steve’s voice faltered at the end.

Even though he wasn’t looking at the spy, Steve could feel the spy tense up beside him.

Steve felt the weight on the seat beside him shift slightly, and in the instant that followed, he heard the sound of fabric rubbing against each other, as though she was repositioning herself on the couch.

When Steve peered to his left, he noticed that her previously outstretched legs were retracted towards her body. She was sitting cross-legged now with her back still leaning against the arm rest. She appeared to be deep in thought, and most probably thinking about things that were not so pleasant, judging from the deep frown her face sported.

Steve sighed weakly.

He knew what was bothering her. In fact, he was pretty sure it was the same thing that was bothering him too.

_She’s worried about Clint…_

Steve snorted inwardly.

_Of **course** she’s worried about Clint, you idiot. It’s probably the only reason why she’s even here with you right now, because she wanted your help to break Clint out of prison. What, did you think that she came here for **you** , Rogers? Moron._

_Clint and the others…God…I’ve made a mess of so many things. This is all on me._

“We’re gonna have to break them out fro-”  

“We’re gonna have to break them out fro-”

They both uttered the exact same words at the exact same time.

Their eyes met instantly. Natasha’s green orbs shone in amusement. The frown on her face morphed into a genuine smile.

She looked like an angel.

Steve returned the smile with one of his own. God, how he wished that she could see him as more than just a partner. He would love her with _everything_ he had. Heck, he _had already_ loved her with everything he had, even now, when he thought that she didn’t return his feelings. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much _more_ love he would shower her with if his feelings were requited. He would love her forever if she could just…if she could just… _feel_ … the same way about him.

But then again, Steve knew that love or feelings could never be forced. Either way he was gonna have to find a way to deal with his unrequited feelings like a man……or, like a _monk._          

Steve’s smile soon transformed into a bittersweet chuckle.

Sweet, because of how compatible and in-sync they both were with each other.

But bitter, because of the realization that his heart’s true desires could never be his.  

“Great minds, huh?” Steve commented with perhaps a little bit too much melancholy.

The spy didn’t seem to notice the sadness in his tone though, or, well, if she did, she didn’t call him out on it. Most probably she hadn’t noticed, since she was pretty occupied with her own thoughts at the moment.

“Hmm.” Natasha gave a non-committal acknowledgement at his comment and added a casual shrug, “Guess that’s what makes us such great partners…”

 _Partners. Right. ‘Cause that’s what we’ll only ever be._ Steve thought sadly.

_Enough! Rogers. Focus on work. People need you._

Steve snapped himself out of it.

He took a deep breath and schooled his features.

_Time to be Captain America again._

His strong hand found her knee in a reassuring grip.  

He held her gaze in an intense stare.

Her stormy eyes betrayed a series of fleeting emotions. Doubt turned worry, worry turned fear, fear turned apprehension and then finally, Steve saw her usual fiery determination and strength flashing across her eyes, implying the fact that her Black Widow mask was up once again.

Natasha lowered her gaze from his, trying to hide her emotional vulnerability from him.

It sucked.

It sucked that she felt she had to hide from _him._

It sucked that he wasn’t Bruce. Because he had no doubt that Bruce could make all the pain and worry in her eyes go away just by _being there_.

He wasn’t Bruce.

He couldn’t do things for her that only Bruce had the power to do.

He knew that.

But he was gonna try anyway.

He was gonna try.

He was gonna fucking try.

“Nat, look at me.” Steve’s tone was firm.

Right now, he was speaking as Captain America, the leader of the Avengers.

The spy sighed, and slowly raised her head up to hold his gaze again, because she recognized that tone of his. That tone of his that was only used when he was giving orders out in the field, orders, which he wanted obeyed.

Softness took over the firmness.  

“It’s gonna be okay. I _will_ find a way to get Barton and the rest out.” Steve reassured.  

“You got a plan?” Natasha asked hopefully.

Steve threw a reassuring smile at her.

“Well, I have a rough idea of what I need to do. And I’ve already had the basic outline of the mission down. It’s the mission details that’s the problem right now. Until I have specific intel about the Raft, I can’t quite work out a detailed rescue plan yet. But it’s best if I could access the Raft’s blueprints and also their activities schedules.” Steve said, throwing a hopeful look at the spy at the end.

Obviously, he had hoped that she could provide him with some assistance on the intel part of the mission.

“Oh I can _definitely_ help you with that.” Natasha smiled confidently.

“Good.”

Steve let out a slow breath of relief.

“But…?” Natasha drawled, drawing Steve’s attention back to her beautiful face.

Steve slowly removed his grip from her knee.

“I know you…Steve. You always reveal the most challenging bits last…” Natasha said smugly.

Steve smiled wanly.

_Boy, she knows me so well._

Steve shook his head, “I still can’t figure out a good way in. Ideally, it’d be best if we could control the Raft’s system remotely…but I don’t know if that’s even possible, Nat. Because I hear that the place’s system is impenetrable.”

“It’s possible, Steve.” Natasha answered assertively.

Steve’s gaze snapped up to hers instantly, his eyes beaming with hope, “You can do it?”

“Well…let’s just say that I am eighty-five percent confident.” Natasha smirked.

 _God, she’s perfect. Intelligent, beautiful, kind and altogether just… GOOD. She’s the whole package. God, she’s an amazing woman. Banner, you better get your head out of your green ass and see for yourself just how lucky you are…_ Steve thought as he stared at the woman beside him with undisguised adoration.

“You’re amazing, Nat.” Steve said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I wouldn’t relax just yet, Cap.”

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked, his voice turned deep in alarm.

"Well, it’s not a problem per se, just a little bit of _extra_ work. See the thing is… I’m positive that I can hack into the Raft’s systems, but for me to do that, you might need to…um…do some heavy lifting.” Natasha said cryptically.

Steve’s curiosity was instantly piqued.

“What kind of heavy lifting?” Steve asked.

Natasha gave him a smirk, “How long can you supersoldiers hold your breath underwater?”

Steve shrugged, “Well…I suppose it depends on the amount of physical exertion I’m subjected to. I could go for about 20 minutes when there’s no physical exertion involved. But otherwise? Probably 8 to 10 minutes.”

“Well… good. ‘Cause I’d need you to take a dive and plant something on the Raft for me before I can work my magic.” Natasha said while trying (but failing) to stifle a yawn.

At the sight of Natasha’s exhaustion, Steve cringed at how insensitive and ungentlemanly he had been for the whole night.

 _She just arrived here at Wakanda, Rogers, but the genius that you are thought that it would be a good idea to yell at her, and then let her play nurse for you. Insensitive asshole. And now you’re even keeping her up. Ma’s gonna be so proud._ Steve berated himself.

 _She looks exhausted. Time to call it a night._ Steve decided.

“Well. It shouldn’t be a problem. But whatever it is, we’ll talk about it _tomorrow_. It’s kinda late, and you look tired, Nat. Let’s call it a night, and get some rest.” Steve stated firmly.

Natasha opened her mouth in protest, but one look from Steve sufficed for the spy to know that his decision was final.

“Fine.” she grumbled.

“We’ll have one whole day tomorrow to work this out, Nat. That’s plenty of time.” Steve reassured.

Natasha shot him a sly look, “Well, I suppose the least I can do is to let the old man get his beauty sleep…”

Of _course_ she’d somehow find a way to slip in another grandpa joke.

A chortle escaped his lips, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Natasha yawned again and but her at the end sounded a little like a half-moan. A _very_ feminine and _sexy_ , half-moan.

 _How could she look so beautiful even when yawning? God, I swear she looks perfect regardless of the circumstances._ Yeah. Even after all these years, Steve still hadn’t a clue of how she could look so classy and graceful even though she came straight out of a fight.

So breathtakingly beautiful.

Steve cleared his throat and tried to hide his blush.  

“Alright then. Let’s call it a night. If everything goes well with the planning tomorrow morning, we will leave Wakanda by tomorrow midnight, and hopefully reach the Raft’s location at about midnight Atlantic Time too. We’ll work out the details of the time difference later on.” Steve wrapped up the discussion.

Natasha nodded and began putting her boots back on.

_Wait…if she’s putting on her shoes, then that means…she’s not staying here…_

_Of course she isn’t staying here you idiot. Why would she stay here?_

“Um, Nat? Where will you stay…? In Wakanda, I mean. For tonight.” Steve stammered by the time she had fully donned her boots.

“My suite’s just upstairs. One floor above yours.” she said as she stood up from the couch and picked up the leather jacket that was draped over the arm rest.

“I see.” Steve nodded, trying to hide the forlornness induced by her impending absence.

Natasha paced towards the kitchen counter in order to pick up her duffel, and headed straight for the front door once the duffel was in her hand.

Steve trailed closely behind her to the front door without uttering another word.

When Natasha was within arm’s reach from the door handle, only did Steve finally open his mouth.

“So will you come down here tomorrow morning? Or do you want me to go up?” Steve asked tentatively, causing the spy to turn back to face him.

Natasha stared at him in amusement, her back was facing the door as she watched him squirm from her position at the doorway.

She said nothing, but was looking at him teasingly.

Feeling compelled to say something, Steve rambled on.

“I could have some breakfast ready… I mean if you don’t mind…?” Steve added hastily.

Jesus. Just kill him now. End his pathetic life. Over a hundred years old, and still hadn’t a goddamn clue how to properly talk to pretty dames.

_Pathetic, Rogers. Pathetic._

“Breakfast does sound pretty tempting…hmm…” Natasha feigned thinking hard, “Alright. I’ll come down here tomorrow.” Natasha smiled at him.

“I’ll…uh… I’ll… make your favorite omelette! For tomorrow’s breakfast, I mean…” Steve stated rather enthusiastically, much to Natasha’s enjoyment.

 _Oh God. That’s it…I’m gonna die alone._ Steve groaned inwardly while trying his damnest to prevent his face from combusting right then and there.

He hadn’t anticipated it when Natasha’s right hand slid up his left arm in a light grip.

“Is the wound okay? Pain? Itchiness? Anything else I could do for it? I have some anti-histamine if it itches.” She said.

“It’s alright, Nat. The wound’s fine. You’re a talented nurse.” Steve managed a tiny smile.

“You sure?” Natasha asked again, her eyes held concern.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Anything else I can do for you?” Natasha asked softly.

_You could stay here tonight… with me…_

_Ask her to stay, you wuss._ Bucky’s voice came out from………… probably somewhere behind his head.

“No. I don’t think so, no.” Steve said instead, a decision which he regretted the moment the words left his mouth. God, he was a fucking liar. He wondered if his pants were on fire yet. No? Well, in that case, then he certainly hoped that they were. Having his pants on fire was certainly a pretty damn fine idea, considering that it might actually help him grow _**bigger**_ balls. What? Things expand when there's a heat source nearby. It’s science.

“Okay, then. G’night, Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Natasha slowly released her grip on his arm.

“Good night, Nat. Rest well, okay?”

The spy nodded slowly but made no moves to turn.

Oh…kay….?

In typical au revoirs, this was usually the part where one party would actually, ya’ know, _leave._ But, strangely, neither of them moved an inch from their spots.

Interesting.

And for a moment they both just… _stared_ , at each other, seemingly reluctant to leave each other’s company.

Eventually, it was Natasha who broke their awkward staring contest.

“Right. So I’ll just…” said Natasha as she thrust her thumb at the door behind her.

“Right.” Steve said with as much steadiness in his voice as he could muster.

_Wuss. Coward. An idiot with **shriveled** balls._

The spy turned her body to face the door, and began undoing the security chain.

Steve watched the front door being opened slowly, and each degree of rotation at the hinge heightening the agony he felt at the pit of his stomach. His heart thrummed noisily against his rib cage. His breath was caught in his throat.

He felt like he was drowning again.

When the door was fully opened, Natasha threw a smile over her shoulder before she began stepping through the door way.

_Argh. Screw it._

Steve’s right hand shot out quickly and caught her right arm in a powerful grip. At the same time, his left hand grasped the edge of the door, thence preventing the door from slamming close.

“Natasha, wait.” Steve said.

“What’s wrong Steve?” Natasha turned back to face him once more, the concern on her face evident.

“Stay." Steve whispered, his blue eyes bored into hers, "Stay here tonight. With me.” 

The concern that had been on her face just a second ago was quickly replaced with an endearing smirk.

She spoke with a teasing lilt, “Didn’t know you were _this_ forward with a girl, Steve.”

“No! I mean. It isn’t… _THAT._ It’s just…I was saying…uh… I mean I could take the couch. Heck, I don’t even need sleep…I’m a supersoldier after all… and-” Steve stammered before the spy finally put him out of his misery.

“At ease, soldier. I’m kidding. Jeez.”

At that Steve visibly relaxed and began pulling her back into the warmth of his suite again.

After Natasha re-entered the suite, Steve let go of his hand on the door.

The door slammed close.

Once more, the soldier and the spy stood facing each other at the doorway.

“You know Steve, I still don’t understand how you could single handedly take down an entire ship of armed mercenaries in less than 5 minutes, yet hadn’t a goddamn clue on how to properly talk to a woman…” Natasha teased. 

“Yeah…” Steve began rubbing at the back of his neck, “Guess that’s something that doesn’t come with the serum…” Steve said shyly.

Unable to resist making the great Captain America squirm, the spy resumed her teasing.

“So…this sleepover invitation of yours…” the spy said in a sly tone.

“Only if you want to though…” Steve clarified quickly. He wasn’t even rubbing his neck now, he was _squeezing_ the poor flesh at the back of his neck.

Then again, Natasha thought he looked rather cute fumbling away with his words like he did a few moments ago. So she continued her assault.

The spy took a step forward into his personal space, and once again brought out her bedroom voice.   

“Tell me, soldier… Why should I stay? What’s in it for me?”

Steve took a breath and cleared his throat, “Well… Um, I mean…for…… practicality! And convenience! Yes! Since we just agreed to meet here, in my suite, again, tomorrow morning, I mean for our discussion… so why not just…stay here for the night? That way you wouldn’t have to go back and forth between your suite and mine. But obviously, if you’re uncomfortable with… I mean if you don’t like the arrangement that I had proposed, then I suppose we could have the meeting at _your_ suite tomorrow morning instead…and…that way you can spend the night at your suite tonight while _I_ head up to your suite tomorrow morning… Ah, I’ll still bring your favorite omelette of course! I won’t forget that… don’t worry, eidetic memory and all…hey in hindsight, I think the second idea sounds better, and that would trouble you the least too, I mean you had only to stay in and wait for me to drop by, you don’t even have to do anything else…that does sound like the most convenient option for you…... Right. Didn’t know **_WHAT_** I was thinking. Silly me…so I guess I should probably let you go rest and I’ll head up to your place tomorrow… what do yo-” Steve stopped his rambling when he heard the rich sound of the redhead’s laughter.

“Oh my _God_ … Steve. You’re so cute when you’re like this, do you know that?” Natasha said between her laughter.

“Hey!” Steve could feel his face burning.

 _Yeah. Cute. But not cute enough to win your heart._ Steve thought bitterly.

“I’m just messing with ya’, Steve. I’ll gladly stay if you wish.” Natasha said.

“Really?” Steve’s face brightened up slightly.

The spy smiled slyly, “Mm-hmm.”   

“Right. Okay…uhm…extra omelettes for you tomorrow, then.” Steve grinned.

“Sounds good. **_But_** …”Natasha eyed Steve from under her lashes, “I’m still quite curious about one thing though…” she said sultrily with her full smirk plastered on her face.

“And what’s that?” Steve asked warily.

Natasha just couldn’t resist teasing him one last time.

“Tell me the truth, Steve. Why do **_you_** want me to stay? What’s in it for **_you_**?” she asked playfully.

Steve averted his eyes, cleared his throat and shrugged, “Um…like I said it’s…practical and…more convenient… for you, which in turn would make _me_ feel… _better…_ you know me and my old-fashioned ways… I mean, obviously, taking care of a lady is literally a sine qua non back in my day, so… well, I’d certainly feel better knowing that you’re well-taken care of. Think about it, you won’t even have to carry your belongings all the way upstairs when you could’ve just stayed here… I mean I’m sure you had a long flight, and plus, you were even yawning just now. As a gentleman, it’s my duty to offer a lady a place to stay as a gesture of… _courtesy_. My Ma always taught me to treat a dame right…so…” Steve ended his ramblings with a cringe.

Natasha chortled loudly, eliciting a deep groan from the soldier.

“God, Nat. _What?_ ” Steve asked exasperatedly.

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s just… you’re really one of a kind, Steve. Anyways, I’m done making fun of you……”

“Uh…huh…” Steve eyed her skeptically.

“…for _now._ ” Natasha smirked.

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes affectionately.

“And thank you for the offer, Steve. That’s very sweet of you. Your mother would be very proud.” Natasha said sweetly as she began making her way across the living area in the direction of the bedroom.

She paused suddenly at the bedroom door before turning back to the soldier, “Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve answered from the doorway.

“You’re still a terrible, _terrible_ liar.”

With that she spy pushed open the bedroom door and threw her duffel bag onto the bed. Steve, still very much stunned into a stupor by her words, could only watch blankly as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Five seconds later, her muffled voice pierced through the suite, “I’m calling dibs on the shower!”

Another thud followed suit, probably the sliding door of the shower stall. A second later, the only audible sound in the suite was the sound of water hitting porcelain tiles.

_Jesus. 6 seconds…can anyone really strip that fast??_

All of the sudden, Steve found himself trapped in another _tight_ situation (in both the literal and figurative sense of the word). Because the woman of his dreams was just about 50 feet away from him, with only a couple of walls and doors separating them (walls and doors which could _easily_ be destroyed with his super strength had he intend to), standing _naked_ , as steaming hot water poured over her delectably sinful body.

Steve gulped.

Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

If Natasha Romanoff was the death of Steve Rogers...then he was pretty sure that he had just dug his own grave.

It was gonna be a _**long**_ ,  ** _tight_**  and _**hard**_ night for the supersoldier…

…and supersoldier junior.

Damn _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear readers,
> 
> So there goes another chapter. This chapter, and the one before this, were mainly for me to express my analyses and interpretations of the events that happened in CACW. After I watched the movie, I tried to make sense of everything, to connect all the scenes together logically, to make everything in the movies make sense. Especially Zemo's motives. Zemo's plans and reasonings. How Zemo might've planned to destroy the Avengers from the inside. And how Zemo might've planned to get the Avengers to kill each other.
> 
> As you've read this chapter, you'll probably realize the central part of my logical reasoning was Natasha's monumental role in foiling Zemo's plans. Natasha was the one who'd really saved the Avengers. I hope that my logical analysis and reasoning is sound. I hope that it makes sense to you. 
> 
> Here are a couple of questions that I'd like you guys to leave in your comments below:
> 
> 1) What do you think about my analyses and interpretations of CACW? Majority of my interpretations can be found in the theory building between Natasha and Steve in Chapter 17, so what do you guys think of that? Did it make logical sense to you? 
> 
> 2) What did you think of my interpretation of Natasha's role as the peacemaker that I've expounded in this chapter? Do you agree with me that Natasha's actions were the one that truly saved the Avengers?
> 
> 3) I've tried to make this chapter funny, witty and light. Did I achieve that? Do you think that this chapter is funny? Did this chapter make you laugh? Or make you smile? If yes, which part made you laughed or smiled?
> 
> 4) Which scene in this chapter is your favorite?
> 
> Please leave your answers in the comments below. I'd appreciate your feedback. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting. 
> 
> Until next time,  
> Isaiah.


	19. Discovered

_“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance; it is the illusion of knowledge.” – Stephen Hawking, Theoretical Physicist, and best-selling author of ‘A Brief History of Time’._

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

Steve set the receiver of the PBX back into its slot gently. He had just gotten off the phone with building’s front receptionist, requesting for some groceries to be delivered to his suite by 9AM in the morning.

Admittedly, Steve had gotten quite carried away with his MasterChef responsibilities. Whilst on the phone, he had rattled off the usual ingredients’ checklist for his All American Omelette to the receptionist.

The receptionist had been acquiescent, thank God. She had all but accepted his every request without much questioning. However, even Steve could detect the slight timbre of skepticism and surprise in her voice through the phone. True, perhaps being asked to have _groceries_ delivered to a _Royal_  guest suite weren’t the typical requests she’d handle on a daily basis. Exquisite dish orders, maybe. Or perhaps requests for light beverages, such as champagne. Or even requests apropos of transportation arrangements. But surely not _groceries._ Yeah, like as if all the rich and powerful of Wakanda who’d stayed here in the past would ask for long list of _groceries_ to be delivered to their suites. Then again, Steve’s list wasn’t even that long to begin with. Eggs. Some American cheese slices. Bacon. Salt. Pepper. Some green onions. Some green and red pepper. Just eight items. Not long at all.     

Okay, fine, he might have also added a couple of _extra_ items onto the list.

Aside from the omelette’s ingredients, Steve had also requested for some cottage cheese, some semolina flour, some all-purpose flour and a bottle of canola frying oil. The extras were all ingredients to prepare Syrniki (a type of cheese pancake). It was a foreign dish, one that he had learned to prepare shortly after he'd joined SHIELD. He learned it because he-

Okay! Okay! Fine! It was a Russian dish. There, he said it.

Yes, it was rather whimsical, that he would suddenly decide to make an extra Russian dish on the side. But in his defense, he _was_ to prepare breakfast for a Russian woman (and a _very_ beautiful Russian dame too, if he might add) who was about to have a _sleepover_ at his temporary abode, so he’d damn well ensure that the lady’s stomach (and taste buds) was well and truly pleasured _._ Pfft. Like as if Steve Rogers was ever gonna let a lady have _cereals_ for breakfast. Hell no. Not on his watch. He’d rather die than let that happen.

Besides, pleasing a lady is a must-do for a gentleman of Steve’s caliber. Just like what his Ma had repeatedly told him,

_“Always treat a lady right, Steven.”_

And oh yeah, Steve Rogers certainly wasn’t one to disappoint his Ma.

Well, the truth was that he just couldn’t help it. He was brought up that way. And since _other_ forms of _nightly_ pleasures were off the table, he’d have no choice but to do all the pleasing and pleasuring through her taste buds. Granted, he could’ve done that with just the American Omelettes alone… Natasha really loved those omelettes after all, so technically, preparing an _extra_ Russian dish would be totally unnecessary. But still… she _was_ Russian…so… ugh, fine! He might have wanted to impress the lady a little bit. He was in love with the lady, for heaven’s sakes, surely a little wooing and courting wouldn’t harm, right? She didn’t have to reciprocate his feelings or anything, it’s just, well, he just… he just had to do it. Plus, he wanted to…take care of her, spoil her a little, and…maybe try to make her a little happy, cheer her up a bit, in case this was his last chance to be able do that before she went running back into Banner’s arms.

Pfft. Yeah. So Steve Rogers had a knack of pleasing the woman he loved. Go ahead, sue him. Take him to the gallows.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Steve plopped down onto the King-sized bed. He quickly noticed the utility belt he had previously discarded on the bed. It was strewn across the sheets messily just beside Natasha’s black duffel bag. With a sigh, the soldier picked up the belt, stood up from the bed and placed the belt back into the closet where his combat suit was kept. He then removed his vest, his tie and his dress shirt too. Said articles of clothing were subsequently stuffed into his own duffel bag just beside the closet, he hadn’t bothered with all the folding and smoothing. Neat-freak propensities be damned.

Now clad only in his dress pants and a tight fitting white tank top, Steve glanced around the large bedroom, hoping to find something to occupy his mind, but had found nothing of interest. Well, there _was_ a huge flat screen TV hanging on the large wall opposite the bed, but the last thing he wanted to see was his own mugshot plastered all over the news. Especially after all the shit they’d gone through for the past few days.

So no. No TV.

He glanced away from the pitch black TV screen.

He let his sight linger on the bathroom door when he heard the shower starting to run again (some time during his phone conversation with the receptionist, the shower had paused).

_Probably just finished soaping…or shampooing… or whatever it is that beautiful Russian women do in the showers –_

_Uh-uh… do NOT go there, Rogers. DO NOT **EVER** venture into such waters._

Feeling a sudden rise in the room’s temperature, Steve tore his eyes away from the bathroom door.

_Do not think about her naked body._

_Do not think about her naked body._

_Do not think about her naked body._

_Do not think about her naked body._

_Redheaded hulks._

_Gingerlocks Thor._

Ugh.

Damn.

Who was he even kidding?

He _was_ thinking about her naked body.

Fuck _._

This was definitely going a lot harder than he’d thought it would be. As much as he loved her company, the mere knowledge of a naked Natasha Romanoff standing just a couple of feet away from him, and with him _unable_ to do anything about it, was just…pure torture, the highest possible form of _sadism;_ no better than that seductive power-play she had used on him just now when he had (stupidly) tried to withhold information from her. Christ, he must be really out of his mind to even bother with that stunt.

Hey, come to think of, thank God she hadn’t used her feminine wiles to extract information about that little sexual fantasy he’d had when he was in his, ya know, _hypoglycemic_ trance.

In an attempt to take his mind off the images of the naked body of a certain bathing redhead, Steve dropped to the floor to do some one-armed pushups. His injured hand was probably about 60% healed up by now. But still, he’d avoided using his injured hand, just for good measure. In 5 minutes, he was at the 290th rep.

_291\. You’re a gentlemen, Rogers…_

_292\. Surely..._

_293\. You can survive…_

_294\. one night…_

_295\. with a beautiful dame..._

_296\. under the same roof…_

_297\. in the same room…_

_298\. on the…_

_299\. same bed……_

_Oh fuck._

Could he?

He paused in his next rep, and thought real hard about the question.

_300\. Well, there’s always that thick duvet…_

Bet he couldn't see a damn thing if he wrapped her up completely with that duvet.

_301\. heck, think I’m just gonna…_

_302\. take the couch._

.

.

.

.

.

.

He pushed through his workout with astounding speed without thinking about anything else. But then his mind started to roam again at the sound of the faucet being turned. The shower stopped running a few seconds later.

The bedroom turned eerily quiet all of a sudden.  

881.  _Sounds like she’s done…_

882.  _I wonder what she’s gonna wear to sleep?_

_883\. a night gown?_

_884\. please… please… don’t wear a lingerie, Nat._

_885\. because I surely won’t be able to…_

_886\. survive the night…_

_887\. if you walk out that door…_

_888\. wearing a skimpy…_

_889\. lingerie set…_

_890\. because if you do…I’m probably gonna die if I don’t touch you…_

_891\. if not for my sake…_

_892\. think about Clint and the others…_

_893\. how are they gonna get out if I’m dead._

_894\. hey come to think of…what am **I** gonna wear?_

He paused mid-rep to ponder the question.

He usually wore sweatpants to sleep, but given the circumstances…

Right. Silly question. If he was wearing any pants at all while spending the entire night lying beside a possibly semi-nude Natasha Romanoff _and_ possibly on the same bed, well then guess what, those pants damn well be elastic. Though he’d generally agree that going pant-less was the best way to go, but then again, his relationship with the redhead wasn’t at that stage yet... so.

Ugh.

 _895._   _Workout pants it is then.._

_896\. Jesus…what have I gotten myself into…_

_897\. You’re only in this predicament because you’re a fucking wuss, punk._ Bucky’s voice taunted him.

898.  _Shut up, Buck._

 _899\. It’s the birds and the bees, punk. The birds and the bees._ Bucky’s cheeky voice nagged at the back of his head.

_900. Go away, Bucky._

BANG!

THUD!

He abandoned the 901th rep and was up on his feet at a Pietro-Maximoff-worthy pace.

In the next instant Steve was already in front of the bathroom door, pounding away with his fist.

“Nat!? You okay in there?” the worry in his voice was evident, he didn’t bother to hide it. He couldn’t hide it.

Her response was incoherent and indiscernible, Steve couldn’t make out her words, even with his enhanced hearing.

A muffled moan, one that sounded _nothing_ like the type that you would hear during you-know-what activities, followed suit.

And… well… Steve pretty much went hullabaloo from that point onwards.

 _It can’t be an attack, could it?_ He wondered.

But then he dismissed the idea seconds later. _Nah… The place’s like a goddamn fortress. And besides… wouldn’t an attack be more likely to come through the **front** door instead of from within a bathroom? _

In his full-on hullabaloo mode, Steve pounded on the door three more times. 

“Nat!!? What the hell’s going on in there?!”

Another muffled moan came from the other side of the door, followed by her strained voice, “No. It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

_She’s in pain._

Hullabaloo one-upped to hyper-hullabaloo, or **_mega_** -hullabaloo.

“Nat!? What’s wrong? Are you in pain?!”

The sliding door shook vigorously at the force of Steve’s fist.

“Mm fine…” came her muffled response.

Oh, she was good, he’d give her that much, but try as she might, she couldn’t hide the pain in her voice from his super hearing.

“No, you’re not! Are you descent? Can you open this door?!” Steve was getting increasingly desperate.

“NO! Just…give me a minute…”

Her response was clearer this time, but the pain in her voice was still conspicuous.

_Dammit. Open the goddamn door, Nat._

Steve briefly considered showing the stupid door just what the Super Soldier Serum in his veins was truly capable of. If even a fucking chopper was no match for his strength, then he seriously doubt that a non-vibranium door stood a chance.

Seriously, all it’d probably take was just one light punch and-

He knocked lightly on the door two more times instead.

“Goddamnit, Nat. Open the door… please. I wanna help you. Let me help you.” Steve slammed his fist on the door’s surface once more, “Please…”

She didn’t respond, but Steve could hear soft rummaging sounds from the other side of the door.

_She’s looking for something…_

“Are you getting dressed?” Steve asked, hoping that she’d be getting dressed so she could actually open the door once she was descent.

More rummaging ensued. She didn’t answer.

Downright ignored him this time.

_Damn it!_

Steve was getting impatient, “Natasha! If you don’t open this door and talk to me _right now_ , I swear to God…I’m gonna it break down!”

The rummaging stopped.

Her voice came next, “Fine. You wanna help? Then go to my bag, and see if you can find something like a black…… _casing._ It’s leather clad and has a combination lock on the side.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he walked over to her duffel bag nonetheless and did as he was told.

The item was easily discernible. Steve quickly grabbed it and headed back to the door.

“I have it. Can I know what’s inside?” Steve asked calmly, trying as best as he could to keep the suspicion away from his voice.

“Just some cosmetics and…oh you know, typical lady stuff. A lady has to look presentable after all.” she replied nonchalantly.

“You don’t need cosmetics to look presentable, Nat. You’re a natural beauty. Now why don’t you tell me the _real_ reason you need it. I bet that there’s something in this box that has nothing to do with cosmetics at all.” Steve accused.

“Once again, flattery gets you nowhere, Rogers.” the spy attempted a futile deflection.

“You’re not answering my question.” Steve said firmly.

“What part of _looking presentable_ do you not understand, Rogers?” Natasha scoffed derisively.

“Nat, you hadn’t bothered with the cosmetics around me before. Remember back at the compound? When you used to stay overnight at my place? You hadn’t bothered back then, so why bother now?” Steve asked, clearly not buying into Natasha’s excuse.

“Well, guess what? I’m about a year older now. And _older people_ need their wrinkle creams. I suppose **_YOU_** of all people should know that wouldn’t you?” the spy retorted drily, clearly attempting to sass her way out of the situation.

“ _Natasha…_ if you don’t start talking _RIGHT NOW_ …”

Natasha _growled._

“Oh, for God’s _sake_ Rogers. Are you really gonna question me about this? What if there’s something that a girl _really_ needs in that box, huh? Like a goddamn _tampon_ for instance. Are you seriously gonna deny a lady her needs just so you can continue with this _stupid,_ pointless and _awkward_ interrogation of yours?” Natasha said in pure exasperation, her voice was on edge. 

Steve blushed heavily.

 _She might have a point, punk…_  Bucky’s singsong voice resonated in his head.

 _Shut. Up. Bucky._  

Steve took a calming breath.

“You know you better be telling me the truth…Natasha……”

“Or else what, Captain? What are you gonna do to me hmm……?” she used her seductive voice.

Pfft. And yet they say that annoyance and arousal don’t mix well together. Right now, he was pretty sure that he had plenty of both. 

_Damn it._

Steve shook the box a couple of times in an effort to make out its contents.  

 _Well. That definitely sounds like cosmetics._ Steve sighed.

“What’s that loud bang I heard just now? And you sounded like you were in pain. _Explain._ ” Steve queried, trying to buy himself more time.

Her response came almost too quickly.

“I banged my elbow on something. It’s no big deal.”

“What’s the unlock combination sequence for this thing…” Steve cleared his throat, “I’ll just… I’ll pass the tampon to you, if… if that’s _really_ what you need.” Steve made one last attempt to ensure that the spy wasn’t hiding anything from him.

“ _БОЖЕ_ … is this really necessary??! What, Steve? You gonna try _sticking_ the tampon in me next?!”

See? See what he meant before?

Natasha Romanoff, the _Queen_ , of busting Steve Rogers’ balls.   

“I will if I have to.” Steve barked out, showing no signs of backing down. 

“Oh…you sure you can handle that, Cap? It’s a rather… _personal_ item we’re talkin’ here… you do know **_what_** a tampon is and **_how_** it works right? I’m gonna have to spread my legs and you have to slip it into-” Natasha teased, only to be interrupted by a very, _very_ frustrated and semi-aroused soldier.  

“ _The combination_ ……” Steve gritted out, feeling his face burning to a crisp.

Natasha let out another growl of frustration, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Rogers! Quit being an asshole and just hand me the box so I can put on my fucking tampon!!”

Her sharp tone had Steve flinching backwards, despite the solid barrier separating their faces.

_Okay. Now she’s angry. She’s angry. She's angry._

Crap.

Knowing that he couldn’t possibly win the argument, Steve sighed and decided for a change of approach, “Fine. Unlock this door.”

A sharp click was heard, and in the next instant, the door slid open about 4 inches, enough space for her hand to stick out through the gap.

Steve slowly passed the box to her, but not before clamping his left hand on the sliding door’s edge to prevent her from closing the door on him.

“Can I come in?” Steve asked hastily.  

“Aren’t you getting a little forward, Cap?” came her sly voice, heck, he could already envision the smirk on her face despite the obstacle between them.

Steve sighed, “Look… I just wanna make sure that you’re alright, so can I come in?”

“No.” was the spy’s answer.

_Damn it._

“This looks like a pretty sturdy door, steel and wood, but not vibranium. And you do know that I’m a supersoldier right?” Steve challenged.

“Well, then I guess you’re just gonna have to deal with the sight of me naked with my hands between my legs. So, good luck with that.” the spy sassed.

_Ughh!! Maddening, frustrating, challenging, and… and, ball-busting, woman._

_God!_

Steve let out a shaky breath and released the door. The sliding door slammed shut immediately with the lock clicking into place before Steve could regroup and recover from the very _hot_ images that the spy had just fed into his mind.

Steve took in another ragged breath, trying to stop himself from worrying about Natasha. But try as he might, he just couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach. Her voice from before, it was definitely unlikely to be caused by the typical bang-on-the-elbow type of pain. He knew Natasha. Tougher than nails woman who could take a wallop straight to her jaw without as much as a flinch. And now what was he supposed to belief? That banging her elbow on something would cause her to _moan in pain_?

Hell no. Way too suspicious to be deemed believable.

_Something had to be wrong. She’s hiding something. DEFINITELY hiding something._

Steve began pacing around the large expanse of the bedroom.

He supposed he could just check on her after she’s done?

Pfft. Yeah. Great idea, genius. She was clearly hiding what she was doing **_IN_** there. By the time she was out, he was pretty sure it’d be impossible to find out the truth…

And what the hell’s taking her so long anyway. It’d been like, what, 3 minutes already? Could putting on a… a…. TAMPON take this long?

Steve fervently shook off the images of a naked Natasha Romanoff, her thighs apart, and with her hands on her-

Oh God, _NO._ He _soo…_ did not need to be thinking about those images right then. Ugh, redheaded Hulks. Redheaded Hulks. _Dancing_ redheaded Hulks. A redheaded Hulk riding a unicycle.

Redheaded Hulks on unicycles, _juggling._

Ahem.

 _Anyway_ , surely inserting a tampon wouldn’t take too long, right?

_No, no, no. Something’s definitely wrong. But what is it?! C’mon, Rogers. Think._

As he paced a hole on the bedroom floor, Steve’s mind was racing, recalling and re-enacting every single one of their interactions ever since he answered the front door, diligently looking for signs or clues or _anything_ that might indicate that she was hurt. Steve recalled her posture, her tone, her behavior, the way she moved, the way she sat, and, heck, even the entire 6 minutes of that seductive power-play she had tried on him. But there was nothing.

Nothing to indicate any form of physical distress.

Damn her superspy skills.

Steve tried forcing himself into the realm of optimism.

_She really did seem fine. Plus, I didn’t see any bruises or cuts on her face or on her limbs. Her skin looked fine and healthy too._

But his paranoia won out in the end.

_But there has to be something right?_

_Maybe it’s an internal injury? That’s why there aren’t any external signs of cuts or bruises?_

Steve took another deep, calming breath.

_Or. Maybe it really was just a tampon problem?_

_But why wouldn’t she just let me hand her the tampon if that’s what she really needs? Why would she insist to have the whole box?_

At that thought, Steve suspicions surged back once more. He knew Natasha. He knew her well enough to know that she was _never_ careless. If she needed a tampon, she would have had it with her before she even entered the bathroom.

_This isn’t like her._

Whatever it was that she needed the box for, Steve was pretty damn convinced that it had nothing to do with tampons.

Another thought flashed across Steve’s mind.

_Yeah… come to think of…since she’s never careless, why would she forget to bring in her cosmetic case if she needed one in the first place? It’s definitely not like her to forget something as habitual as that, she’s too careful for that._

The answer to that question came immediately to Steve.

_Probably because she subconsciously knows that she doesn’t need the cosmetics. I mean, she pretty much hadn’t bothered with cosmetics when she sleeps over at my quarters back at the compound. Using cosmetics while staying over with me definitely wasn’t part of her habit at all… That had to be why she didn’t take it to the bathroom with her in the first place…._

_But whatever the reason she needs them for right now had to be something out of ordinary, something out of the norm._

But why would she need _cosmetics_? What sort of _extraordinary_ thing would involve a bunch of cosmetics, anyway?

Unless the contents of the case weren’t just cosmetic products?

_But no…I shook the box just now. It sounds like cosmetics, that’s for sure._

Steve slowed his pacing, pausing in front of the door once more with his fist raised, debating with himself whether to knock and check on her again.

Seconds later, Steve huffed out a breath and lowered his hand.

_Relax Rogers. Maybe she’s really fine. I mean maybe she’s really just applying makeup so she could be ‘presentable’. Not that she would ever need makeup to look beautiful. And besides, she did seemed fine when we were talking just now, her skin had been perfect as usual, there were no cuts, no bruises, no-_

Steve’s eyes widened.  

_Wait a minute…no bruises… flawless skin… make-up… cosmetics…_

The penny dropped.

Steve’s face paled. 

 _Oh God…_  

Once again, the sliding door quivered under the rhythmic pounding of Steve’s fist.  

“Natasha Romanoff! Open this door right now… I know what you’re doing in there! You’re hurt, and you’re trying to cover them up with cosmetics aren’t you?!”

Silence. She ignored him.

She fucking _ignored_ him.

_Damn it, Natasha._

“Natasha…” Steve’s tone was firm.

“I’m fine, Steve. Go away. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

Captain America had had enough.

“AVENGER! You open this _door_ , _RIGHT NOW._ That is a direct _ORDER_ …”

Of all the times they had worked together, Steve had never _ever,_ pulled ranks on her. Not even once. Captain America respected the Black Widow immensely. He trusted her with his life. He trusted her judgements, her skills and her abilities. He had always treated her as an equal.

Not this time.

This time, he had no other choice (none that didn’t involve some form of vandalism, obviously). Because if she was bothering to hide her injuries with cosmetics, it could only mean one thing: that the injuries weren’t trivial. In fact, that would even explain her strained voice and her moan of pain he’d heard moments ago.

All the pieces finally fit together.

CLICK! The door was unlocked, but it didn’t open.

Steve held the door handle and yanked the sliding door open to reveal the interior of the bathroom. Without wasting another second, Steve’s brilliant analytical mind took in the entirety of the bathroom, scanning, and _analyzing_ the situation laid before him.

He immediately saw the black cosmetic case on top of the vanity counter. Scattered across the entire counter were make-up… _accessories_ (whose names Steve had not a single inkling about), and there were _a whole bunch_ of them, a whole _big_ bunch. So numerous that they completely filled up the space of the vanity counter.

Turning away from the vanity, Steve located the spy at the further end of the huge bathroom.

Natasha was leaning against the glass enclosure of the shower stall, with a white bath towel wrapped around her shapely body. Her hair was tied into a loose bun, with a few stray tendrils framing her face. Her head was lowered as she stared unendingly at something on the floor. Heck, he was pretty sure that there was nothing on the floor to look at, she was obviously just avoiding _him_.

From Steve’s position, she looked…uncharacteristically _vulnerable,_ so unlike the usual poised and graceful Black Widow. For a moment, Steve felt his heart warmed up at the thought of having the privilege to see her like this.

_God. I love you, Natasha. I love you. I love you.  I love you so damn much. I love you so much that it hurts…_

Steve tried to read her face next, and quickly found it to be slightly contorted in pain. Clearly, she was in pain, but was also trying everything to hide it.

_That does it._

The soldier wasted no time. After a few quick strides, he was standing right in front of her with his arms crossed, just waiting for her to acknowledge his presence in the room. But still, the spy downright _refused_ to look at him. Yeah. Guess he had totally forgotten who he was dealing with. Like, come on, getting **_Natasha Romanoff_** to open up and let him take care of her? Pfft. He honestly thought he’d have better luck in getting the Nazis to celebrate the 4 th of July.

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted.

Stubborn mule of a woman.   

After giving a quick once over of her body, still, the soldier noted no particular contusions or causes for concern. One thing he had immediately took notice of was the dampness of her body due to her prior shower. Her face, and her cleavage, were slightly flushed (pfft, _of course_ he’d notice that), most likely due to the hot shower also. All in all, she looked normal and healthy. But Steve Rogers was not one to be fooled by the demeanor of the master spy. He knew better than to just take in what she let on. He had to look underneath the underneath (no double entendre intended here, _sheesh,_ people). He had to observe her, scrutinize her, and look for subtle hints from her body language.

And Steve did just that.

The first sign of abnormality in her body language was the fact that she had never once lifted her head since he entered the bathroom. And the second was that her right hand had been holding her throat since the very beginning, like as if she was trying to conceal her throat from his view.

_Something’s wrong with her throat._

As slowly as he could, Steve lifted his hand and wrap his fingers around her right wrist, and gave the wrist a little tug. Her hand didn’t budge though. Yeah. Big surprise there. He supposed he could have yanked her hand off her throat just like that, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

_Okay. Change of tactics._

“What’s wrong with your throat, Nat?” He prodded gently.

“It’s nothing. Just a little sore. Nothing you need to be worried about.” she replied vaguely.

Well, at least she was talking to him.

_That’s progress, I suppose._

He removed the hand on her wrist, and placed his thumb and index finger on her chin instead.

“Natasha… look at me.” Steve whispered.

This time, the spy yielded. Though she still did not lift her head, merely stared up at him through her eye lashes.

“Do you trust me?” Steve asked softly.

Immediately, the spy’s expression softened, and gone was the defensive look from her face, replaced with a look of vulnerability and of trust.

A sigh escaped her lips.

“You know that I do, Steve.” She said, her tone resigned.

“Then please, let me have a look at your injuries. I’m your partner, Natasha. I need to do this. Please…” Steve urged.

The spy looked away, still showing no signs of relenting.

“Nat… Please…” Steve pleaded one more time.

Natasha sighed and finally dropped her hand from her throat.

Using his thumb and index finger on her chin, Steve very gently tilted her head upwards and sideways to get a better look at her throat.

Steve’s eyes widened in horror at what he saw. Purplish-black bruises covered the skin of her throat from the front to the sides. There were also certain regions where her skin was still tender from whatever the hell it was that had caused all the nasty bruising. Those tender regions were reddish-brown in hue. With great care, Steve tugged at her shoulders and turned her body from side to side to get a better view of her entire throat.

A lump quickly formed in Steve’s throat as he began putting the pieces together. He had by then, a pretty good idea of what had caused all the horrifying bruises on her throat. Steve noted a particular feature of the still-tender, reddish regions on her neck: those regions came in stripes, four _thick_ stripes on one side of her neck, and another single, thick (thickest and fattest stripe among all) stripe on the other side of her neck. And Steve recognized the patterns and the sizes of those stripes.

The Winter Soldier’s metal arm. 

“Bucky…” Steve whispered hoarsely.

“It wasn’t him, Steve. It was the Winter Soldier.” Natasha said firmly.

Steve shook his head and sighed.

“Where else?” asked Captain America, his blue gaze bored into the spy’s eyes with fiery intensity, willing her to come clean with him.

 

* * *

 

At Steve’s melting stare, Natasha felt bare, and _naked_ ; like as if he could see _through_ all her masks and walls, like as if he **_knew_** her like nobody else. And honestly, that scared the shit out of her, because she **_didn’t want_** him to know what’s truly inside her, because she was afraid that he wouldn’t like what he would see, _because_ , she wasn’t ready to lose him, she wasn’t ready to lose Steve Rogers’ trust and friendship, not ever. But then again, at the same time, seeing Steve all worried and concerned about her well-being…. just seemed a little… well, let’s just say that it stirred up some _pre-_ tty warm and _fluttering_ feelings within her. Oh, hell, who was she even kidding? The truth was that her insides had turned all mushy and gooey the very moment his beautiful blue eyes landed on her when Steve yanked open the bathroom door (something that she would _never_ admit out loud to anyone, not even if her life depended on it).

For a fleeting moment, Natasha wondered what it would be like to have Steve Rogers taking care of her for all eternity; to wake up with his strong arms enfolded around her body and with the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes being that handsome face of his; all the beautifully sculpted features of his face, the strong and chiseled jawline, the thick and long eye lashes, his sleep-tousled hair and those beautiful blue eyes…

God, those eyes…she so wanted to lose herself in those eyes as if nothing else in the world mattered…

Those eyes that reminded her of how badly she had once fallen for-

 _Dangerous waters there, Romanoff. What the hell were you even thinking?!_ Her fantasy ended as swiftly as it came.

Проснуться, Наталия _ <Wake up, Natalia!>_

_Don’t you even **dare** think about him that way, you selfish bitch._

_He’s off limits, Romanoff. He’s not for you. He’s **not.**_

_There’s a reason you walked away from him before, Romanoff. You’ll only taint him. You’re no good for him. Stay away from him, you monster._ Natasha chided herself.

_Sharon deserves him. Peggy deserves him. Not you! You don’t deserve him._

A strong grip found its way onto her right deltoid, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She felt a slight nudge next.

“Where else, Nat?” came Steve’s thick voice.

Steve was still staring.  

And with him staring at her like that, she felt all the lies and excuses stripped away from her, like as if those blue eyes were black holes (or blue holes, whatever) swallowing up every single lie or excuse that she could come up with, just like that, sucking them up and away, away into complete oblivion.

So much for being a master spy who lies for a living. So _much_ for being the master manipulator.

She really found it so damn hard to hide herself in front of him. So fucking hard.   

In front of Steve Rogers, she was nothing but _putty._  

Feeling every last modicum of her resolve crumbling under the weight of Steve’s stare, she held nothing back this time, she told him the complete truth, “Some on my back. I think it’s near the spine. Quite heavy bruising there the last time I looked.”

“Let me have a look.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve for his straight-forwardness.

The soldier rolled his eyes in return.

“I won’t look anywhere else, if that’s what you’re implying.” said the soldier, his face slightly flustered.

God. Why was he so handsome even when flustered?

Natasha shot him a get-real look, clueing him in to the fact that she didn’t share his opinion regarding the possibility of him being able to not look… _elsewhere._

And apparently, _that_ , was all it took to turn the great Captain America into a blushing teenager.

But only for a while.

“Don’t play games with me, Nat. Turn around with your chest facing the wall. And wrap that towel around yourself from waist down. I just need to take a look at your back.” Steve ordered sternly.

Natasha stared back at him in disbelief, disbelief at how fast he had recovered from his blushing fit and gone back to becoming the charismatic commander of the Avengers. How could that be possible? Where did all that blushing coyness go? And why did he had to look so goddamn _sexy_ when ordering **_her_** around? And God, that was when he was only _ordering_ her around. _Ordering._  With his mouth. What happens if he did more than just ordering? God, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how it’d be like if he downright _manhandled_ her using that strong and chiseled body of his. Yeah. Manhandle. With his strong hands and thick legs _all over_ her body.

Боже мой

She still remembered the last 2 times that happened. The last two times Steve Rogers manhandled her.

The first time was aboard the Lemurian Star. Boy oh boy, did he manhandled her like fuck. When Batroc threw that grenade at them, he’d wrapped her entire body in his strong arms. She remembered clinging to his body, his strong and warm body. And fuck, she’d all but _bolted_  straight to the bathroom the moment their quinjet landed at the Triskelion's helipad.

To change her underwear.

Because she’d been so wet back then that she’d ruin the one she’d worn under her catsuit.

The second time was at the hospital in DC, when she took that flash drive he’d (adorably) hidden inside a vending machine. Then, he’d downright _dragged_ her by the elbows and slammed her into a wall. She had so wanted to kiss him back then, but it just wasn’t the right time, and he’d seemed so angry at the time that it’d totally killed the mood.

Then again, she did kiss him that day.

It was afterwards, on an escalator.

Best damn kiss of her life.

A second nudge shook her out of her thoughts.

His handsome face had the sternness of a field commander.

He was still in his full-on bossy, sexy, and commanding mode.

“Well? What are you waiting for? G _et moving._ I’m gonna turn around, and you’re gonna _do as I just told you_. Captain’s orders.” Steve said, his voice leaving no room for further arguments.

Natasha had to clench her thighs together and bite back a moan.

_Fuck._

Oh God, she wanted to jump him right then and there. Seriously, nobody was even there to stop her. She wanted to drop the towel and just beg him to take her right there, against the vanity counter, in the shower, on the floor, on the bed, _everywhere._  

Who knew that bossy Steve could turn the Black Widow on like _that?_

_Oh, go fuck yourself, Natalia. You selfish, self-centered, evil, dirty bitch. You don’t deserve him. You don’t. Don’t even dare entertain such thoughts about him, you whore. He’s off limits. He’s for Sharon, or Josephine, or Lilian, or Kristen from Statistics, or Janet from Stark Industries. He’s for anyone but you, Natalia._

_Anyone but you, Romanoff._

_Anyone but you. You’re dirty. You’re a monster._

_You’ll ruin him._

She stared straight ahead. Big mistake. Because she now had his massive, sculpted, better-than-Adonis twin pectorals in full view,  _right_ in front of her. Like literally just an inch away from her face.

She bit her lip.

_Damn you, Rogers. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. Why YOU? Why does it have to be you?! I don’t want to want you, Steve. Damn it, I CAN’T want you. I can’t. For your own good, I can’t want you._

_I can’t._

And as promised, Steve turned around from her to give her privacy. And Natasha both  _hated_  and _appreciated_ that gesture of his. 

Goddamn it, why did he have to be so chivalrous all the fucking time?!

_Oh boy, she was screwed. Totally screwed, by **him,** and **precisely** because he hadn't screwed her. _

“Get _moving_ , Nat.” Steve ordered again.

For once in her life, Natasha acquiesced to Steve’s request without some sort of witty sass-quip. Though, if she was honest? The reason for her acquiescence was because she couldn’t bear to look at him right then. With him acting all bossy, and commanding and _sexy_ and all.

The last thing she needed right now would be to get all hot and bothered because of him, in front of _him._   

“Are you done?” Steve asked after a moment.

“Yeah…”

 

* * *

 

Steve began examining the contusions on her back. They weren’t as bad as the ones on her throat, but they did cover a large expanse of her back, from the space between her shoulder blades all the way down to her lumbar spine. But most of them were centered about the spinal area.

“Bucky again?” Steve asked, his voice emotionless this time. Surprisingly.

“Nah. I was fake fighting with Clint back at the airport. Wanda thought I was trying to kick Clint’s head off, so she flung me for more than 30 feet into a steel container. Back took the full impact.” she explained.

Steve huffed out a breath of dismay.  

_Every one suffered at the weight of your failure…Your death amounts to the same as your life…A zero sum… zero sum…_

_Your life… a zero sum…_

“It’s on me. I didn’t train her well enough to read the situation.” Steve said as he shook his head sadly.

“It’s on both of us, Steve. We’re partners. You don’t have to shoulder all the blame.” Natasha answered.

Steve sighed, “They hurt?”

“Throat kinda hurts when I swallow. Back hurts when I try to bend down or lift my arms.”

“What was that loud bang just now?”

“I kinda forgot about those on my back. So I bent down to pick something up. Felt pain, lost my balance, ended up having my side crashing against the wall of the shower stall. It’s no big deal.”

“Alright, Nat. Get descent.” Steve said as he turned around once more.

 

* * *

 

They were standing side by side once again, this time with their lower backs leaning against the vanity counter. Natasha had had the towel re-wrapped around her body.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Steve asked after a while.

Natasha remained silent, though when Steve peered at her, he noticed that she was deep in thought.

“I…I didn’t want you to worry. It’s just, you’ve got so much burden on your shoulders already, I mean with everything. And I just… I didn’t want to add to that. Besides…I didn’t know how to tell you that it was Barnes who had caused some of the bruises. I know how much Barnes means to you…and… I guess I just didn’t want you feeling guilty about it or anything.” she finally said.

Steve’s heart warmed.

_God, Nat. You hadn’t a damn clue how good and kind…and compassionate of a woman you are… no clue. And if I try to tell you, you wouldn’t even believe it._

Without saying another word, Steve turned to her and wrapped his arms around the woman, though taking special heed to avoid the bruises on her back.

“Next time, just _tell me_ …okay?”

“Okay.” she promised.

Steve released the hug as a thought suddenly came to him.  

“Was it hurting before? While we were talking outside?” Steve asked.

“Yeah…” she answered softly.  

Steve sighed, “And yet I yelled at you, and pushed your back against the bedroom door. Jesus, I can’t imagine how much that must’ve hurt. I’m so sorry, Nat. I didn’t know. God I’m so sorry…” He could’ve sworn that his voice cracked a little.  

“Hey…Steve, it’s okay. It only hurt a little bit just now, I swear. It’d only gotten a lot worse when I was in the shower.” Natasha reassured.

“How come?”

“How come… what?”

“I mean, how come the pain got worse only when you were in the shower?”

“Oh. That. Well, I took some Vicodin before I left the farm. Allowed me to sleep on the flight here. I guess the effects just wore off when I took my shower…”

Steve narrowed his eyes at the spy.

“Wait, Nat…You’re not…by any chance… _lying_ to me just to make me feel better, right?”

The spy snorted, “Aren’t you the same guy who claimed to have complete trust in me just now? Why, Steve, you’re not taking back your words now, are you?”

“NO!!! God, no, Nat. I just… I mean, I just wanted to…” Steve rubbed his neck, “to make sure tha-”

Natasha chuckled, “Oh, _relax_ , Steve. I’m _kidding._ Jeez. Why do you always end up with your panties in a bunch?" A smirk formed on her lips, _"Assuming_ that you are, in fact, wearing one. I mean I wouldn’t be surprised, seeing that you always act like such a girl, like right now.”

Steve scowled at her, “Now that’s just _mean_ , Natasha.”

A smirk was all he received.   

“You know, for a master spy, you’re a pretty lousy liar too.”

“What makes you say that?”

At that, Steve rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“ _Tampons…_ really?” he scoffed.

“Oh yeah? What makes you think that I was lying?” Natasha challenged, her eyebrows arched high.

“Well… I don’t see any tamp…….”

When Steve saw the smug look on her face, his own expression morphed into that of recognition.

Steve dropped his head with a resigned smile, “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

_This woman is really gonna be the death of me._

“Yep. You kinda did.” Natasha replied cheekily.

Steve cleared his throat.

“Come on, tell me. Did you lie? I mean…about the tampons.” Steve asked boldly. He was pretty sure that he was never gonna find out the answer, but still, it was… worth a try. Come to think of, why the fuck would he wanna know?   

“Well, Captain. I guess you’ll never know, will you? Un _less_ …” Natasha teased slyly.

Steve’s face turned beet red.

“I think… I think you lied.” Steve challenged unthinkingly.  

A seductive smile formed on the spy’s face as she took one step into Steve’s personal space.

When she spoke next, her voice had dropped a several octaves lower into what one would consider as the NSFW pitch range.

“Why Steve, you can check for yourself if you want…”

Steve saw her hands slowly slide down to the hem of her bath towel, hiking it up by a good two inch, giving Steve a _very_ generous view of her toned thighs.

_Death. Of. Me._

Jesus Christ. Was she even wearing _anything_ under that towel?

Steve turned his blushing face away from her, “No thanks, Nat.” He cleared his throat, “I already know the answer. I think you lied about the tampons…there aren’t any…. _WRAPPERS!_ There aren’t any wrappers around here.”

Steve turned his face back to her and tried to look smug.

He was met with an even smugger look from the spy.

“There are some brands that don’t come with wrappers.” she smirked.

“Still think you’re lying, Nat.”

“Like I said, soldier. Only one way to find out…”

Steve stared back at her, all hints of banter gone from his face.

_Should I tell her now? Or do I just act on it? What if I scare her away?_

Maybe he should wait until after the rescue mission, in case their emotional states compromise their upcoming rescue mission. Yeah. Surely that can’t be good, right? 

 _Wuss._ Bucky’s voice resonated in his mind.

Amid his internal debates, Steve suddenly caught something else out of the corner of his eyes, in the mirror which hung above the vanity counter. He saw something in that mirror. Ahem. To be precise, he saw Natasha’s hand (the one she now kept obscured from his view behind her back) slowly creeping on the counter, like it was inching closer and closer to something. When Steve followed the hand’s path, he knew immediately what it was that she was sneakily trying to grab.

It was the cosmetic case.

_Aha. She’s still hiding something._

_That little minx._

Steve acted first.

In a feat of superhuman speed, Steve grabbed both of her arms and spun them around, swapping their positions. Now it was Steve who was closer to the object she was after.

“Crap…” the spy grumbled.

Steve smirked, “Ah, so there _was_ something else you were hiding from me…”

Steve reached for the black leather case, opened it and……

Found it to be empty.

Steve frowned.

“It’s empty.” Steve stated blankly.

“Right. See? It’s nothing. Now, give it back.” Natasha tried, but failed, to grab the box from him.

“Yeah right, Nat. Try harder.” Steve smirked, “You were secretly reaching for it from behind your back, it can’t be nothing…”

Natasha cursed under her breath and looked away.

“Huh…” Steve drawled.

“What?” Natasha asked as she attempted once more to snatch the case away from Steve’s grip, but the supersoldier was too quick for her.  

“The contents of the box…they were all already scattered on the counter…” Steve paused and stared at her, “and _yet_ ……you were reaching for the box itself…”

“So?” Natasha replied indignantly. Steve thought that she looked rather cute like that. Pfft, _rather_ cute? More like extremely, tremendously, monumentally cute. _Acutely_ cute. Divine cuteness.

“Which means…” Steve threw her another smug look, “Whatever it was that you’re hiding from me, it must be _on_ the box itself, or rather… _it is the box itself._ ”

“Give it back, Rogers!” Natasha downright _pounced_ for the box.

But once again, the supersoldier was quicker.

“Nope. No can do, Nat. Let’s see what’s so special about this box.” Steve said as he turned the object around in scrutiny.

Most of the box was covered in black leather. From the texture and the smell, Steve could tell that it was made from genuine high quality leather. But after some perusal, Steve could find nothing particularly bizarre about the leather itself.

_What could it be?_

Giving up on examining the outer leather coating, Steve examined the interior of the box instead. The interior was even more mundane, there were pouches, slots and compartments for various makeup accessories. Just like that. Nothing else. Disappointment settled at the pit of Steve’s stomach.

He looked up at her again, and was met with her look of complete indifference.

But just when he was about to give up, he saw it.

It was when he was closing the lid of the box that he had caught a glimpse of the correct number combination to unlock the box.

0407

Steve gaze snapped up to the spy again, “Nat, is that my…”

The spy rolled her eyes and threw him a resigned look.

“Fine, Rogers. I admit it. I used your birthday as the unlock combination.”

Her arms were crossed at her chest now.

Steve chuckled, “ _This_ is what you’re hiding from me? My birthday?”

Natasha _blushed._

Oh Lord, Steve could have sworn that he was swooning at how absolutely adorable she looked right then.

“Give it back!” she snapped, her hand was outreached, expecting him to return the box to her.

This time, Steve obliged and handed her the box.

She snatched the case from him and re-crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“You know, just for the record…You don’t actually have to hide that from me, Nat. In fact, I…uh… I feel honored…that you saw me as important enough to be a part of your… _lady_ toolbox.” Steve said tentatively.

“Oh, get _over_ yourself, Rogers.”

“Can I ask why? Why had you used my birthday instead of……” Steve paused, he had wanted to say _Banner’s birthday_ , but had wisely decided against it. So he went for an obvious joke, “…instead of… Stark’s birthday for instance?”

He reckoned the joke worked because she burst out laughing right there, but he could see the strain on her face shortly after.

_Her throat is probably hurting like hell right now, and the World’s Greatest Genius Punk Steve Rogers thinks that it’s a good idea to make her laugh. Real smart._

“Really, Steve? You of all people should know that I couldn’t stand the guy. I don’t know about you, but I sure as _hell_ wouldn’t want the first thing I do every morning before I look into the mirror to be _anything_ Stark-related.”

Steve chuckled, “Point. But you still haven’t answered my question…”

“I had two of these boxes. This one I used when I’m on work assignments and the other box is for personal use. Why your birthday? Well, after we were partnered up in DC, I sort of just put it in since you’re my partner and… and…” she cleared her throat, “you also happened to have a birthday which is easy to remember.”

The nonchalance in her words felt like a Hulk-punch straight into his gut.

_Ouch._

Disappointment coursed through every cell in his body. He shouldn’t have asked. Because knowing the true reason hurt like a motherfucking son of a bitch.

_My birthday to unlock the one for work. Ain’t no rocket science to figure out whose birthday she has used as the unlock combination for the personal one._

Banner.

_I’m just the work partner, all business. No up close and personal._

_You’re a fool to expect something more Rogers. A pathetic fool._

Steve pushed away his disappointment and schooled his features instead.  

_Right. So I’m in the partner-zone. Got it. Message received. Loud and Clear._

“Get dressed. And come outside in 3 minutes.” Steve said tersely before he quickly made his exit from the bathroom.

Little did he know, that the spy was staring after his back with a deep frown of confusion plastered on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's Chapter 19 for you!
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be light, fluffy and funny. I sure hoped that I had delivered what I had intended.
> 
> Did you guys find this funny? Or fluffy? What were your emotions as you read this chapter? Let me know in the comments down below.
> 
> Also, did you guys notice that Natasha's injuries corresponded with all those mentioned in Chapters 3,5, and 12. Those bruises on Nat's throat were mentioned in all three chapters. And the bruises on Nat's back was mentioned in Chapter 5, while she was in Clint's farm. I hoped that y'all noticed. 
> 
> Please comment. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> Isaiah.


	20. Tears of Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hi. 
> 
> I know. I know. This has been a long time coming. Ten days to be exact. I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner. But it had been a shitty week. With me struggling through a series of depressive episodes. And with frequent trips made to the hospital to see my psychiatrist? Well. Yeah. That's bound to put a damper on my writing to some extend. 
> 
> Truth is, my mind was still a little haywire when I wrote this. So I know I might fuck up somewhere. Please forgive me if I did. 
> 
> I truly hope that you'd enjoy this chapter.

_Was there anything more astounding or more frightening to a man, he wondered, than a strong woman in tears? – Roarke, In “Glory in Death”, Nora Roberts_

  

* * *

 

Never in his life had Steve Rogers ever resented politics more than he did now.

Never.

First the Accords.

And now **_this._**

“Hold on a second, Ma’am. What do you _mean_ she’s not allowed to travel on her own?”

Steve’s grip tightened on the PBX’s receiver. His jaws clenched, both brows pulled into a tight pinch.

“But she’s with me.” He added quickly, still struggling to keep his tone calm and polite.

Seconds ticked by.

And the voice at the receiver nothing but stoked the soldier’s frustration. His ear drums pounded at the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. And he knew it was only a matter of time before discontent completely seize hegemony over every nerve ending in his face.

Soon, he’d be like Scrooge; a pitiful, lonely and disgruntled _old_ man, forever with a snarl on his face. Well, more like a _super_ Scrooge, who was about this close to putting his fist through the wall in front of him.

A sharp sting in his injured right hand served as a reminder that he might’ve been gripping the receiver a _wee_ bit too tightly.

He fleetingly thought of that walkie-talkie he’d snatched from the hands of that Romanian police officer yesterday. The same device that had been crumpled into pieces with just a light squeeze of his palms.    

Not wanting the PBX to suffer the same fate, Steve eased his grip.

He forced himself to take a breath.

“ _Complications?_ What kind of complications?” he asked with miraculous patience.

Several moments passed by with Steve listening quietly to the accented voice at the other end of the line.

Steve released a little snort.

“Mobility restrictions…you’ve gotta be _kidding_ me.” He mumbled into the empty bedroom.

Resigned, the Captain shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor. The voice in the receiver droned on lengthily while his eyes studied the Saxony carpet below his feet. Steve shifted a little, feeling the feathery tickles of the chocolate-brown buds of Saxony against his bare feet. The act brought slight comfort and warmth, though clearly not enough to allay his displeasure at the subject of his phone conversation.

His frown deepened by another half an inch.

“Does His Highness know about this?” Steve asked all of a sudden.

It was also then that he spotted movement from the corner of his eyes. Near the bathroom. To his far right.

He didn’t have to turn his head, not really.

There could be only one person responsible for the movement. Though he was a bit surprised that she’d even allow her movements to be noticed by him.

Natasha _._

_You don’t have to look._

_You don’t have to turn._

_You don’t have to turn._

He turned anyway.

But only because he was such a fucking goner whenever things involved Natasha Romanoff.

She was leaned up against the bathroom door, with her curves all wrapped up in an expensive-looking, form-fitting bathrobe. The ends of the robe floated near her waist, leaving her toned legs exposed beyond mid-thigh.

 

From where he stood, Steve thought she looked elegant. Classy. Sophisticated. With just the right amount of sexiness.

Black.

All-black.

The bathrobe was all-black.

And pure silky satin.

Steve couldn’t help but notice the attractive contrast between her complexion and the robe’s fabric.

Creamy alabaster versus silky blackness. Light versus dark. Natural versus artificial. Nakedness versus fabric. Softness versus lethality. White versus black.

Ying versus Yang.

Harmony.

Elegance.

It was feminine beauty in its most sophisticated and ethereal form. Undoubtedly something that only _she_ could pull off.

Now Steve didn’t know squat about the Wakandans, but he did know one thing. They had God-awesome tastes in women’s fashion. Because that robe Natasha had donned accentuated every single one of her most comely features. The scarlet of her hair. The light in her eyes. Her shapely legs that seemed to go on forever and ever ad infinitum beneath that robe. Her lips. Her nose. The fullness of her bust. The curve of her ass.

And to top it off, she looked as though she was glowing under the bedroom's faux candlelight orange ambient lighting.

She was stunning. Just like an angel.    

God. She was beautiful.

So fucking beautiful.   

Their eyes met across a huge patch of brown Saxony, once again breathing life into this _thing_ between them.

This inexplicable aura which defines them.

This...the soldier and the spy… _thing._

He would stare at her…and she, in turn, would stare at him….

They would lose themselves in each other…

And everything else would just be forgotten.

BEEP! BEEP!  

The digital clock at the night stand bawled.

2 AM.

The digital and electronic nature of the noise reminded Steve of the PBX. And his ongoing phone call.

Without his breaking eye contact with the spy, Steve delegated half of his attention back to his nearly forgotten phone conversation. It was silent on the other end of the line, and Steve immediately realized that the receptionist must’ve been awaiting his response on something she’d asked him.

Moron that he was must’ve been too busy ogling to pay any attention.

As if getting whacked in the face repeatedly by swinging 900-pound punching bags weren’t painful enough lessons. When would he _ever_ learn?

He let out a quick breath and cleared his throat.  

“Sorry, Ma’am. Can you please repeat that?” he asked into the receiver.

And Natasha Romanoff _smirked_.

The exact moment those words left his mouth, she downright smirked. The little minx _smirked._

Smirked. _At_ him. _Because_ of him. At _his_ expense.

Pfft. Bet she _knew_ damn well just what effects she had on him. Bet she knew. And she just _had_ to be such a goddamn tease about it too.

The world’s greatest spy was also the world’s greatest fucking tease. He really wondered if he should be surprised.

Their delicious eye contact took a 180 the moment the receptionist’s question registered in Steve’s mind. Steve’s features hardened, and the look of admiration in his eyes transformed into a sharp, pointed glare.

“No, Ma’am. She never told me. Been _awfully_ quiet about it for the whole night, in fact.” Steve spoke into the receiver, though his words were clearly aimed at the woman clad in black satin robe.

The spy’s irises grew several shades darker and her smirk faltered.

Steve also perceived the moment when she finally broke their eye contact and lowered her gaze to stare at her feet. She bit down on her bottom lip the same time she began toying with the waist band of her robe.

Steve sighed.

“Right. Authorized transportation it is, then.” He said.

“Okay. Can I get a list of all time slots available?” Steve asked into the PBX’s receiver.

This time, the spy’s gaze snapped back up to his.

“Steve, what are you…?”

The soldier held her eyes, but ignored her question.

For a moment he stood rigidly still, fully focused on the voice in the receiver.

“How long would each take?” Steve asked again.

A few seconds later, he nodded.

“I’ll take the afternoon slot.” Steve said, waited for several seconds before he added, “the latest one.”

Steve nodded, “Great. Alright. So it’s 3pm tomorrow afternoon. Picking up at 2.45pm. Thank You, Ma’am.”

“Good night.”

He hung up.

The spy stared at him suspiciously.

“Who’s that you were talking to?” she asked cautiously.

“Front reception.” Steve answered.

“Yeah? What about?”

Steve walked towards where she stood in front of the bathroom door.

“Is there something you wanna tell me, Nat?” he fired, ignoring her question.

“Yes, there is. Well, a lot of things, actually.” Natasha smirked, “I’d start by telling you that I wanna know all about that phone conversation you were having…but _clearly_ , you’re avoiding that question.”

The supersoldier arched his brows at her, willing her to divulge.

The smirk remained. 

“Ooh, I get it… Must be a secret date with a Wakandan lady. Bravo, Steve. You know, if I’d known your taste all those years ago I would’ve-”

Her playful tone was cut off by Steve’s stern voice.

“Nat, the lady mentioned something about some complications regarding your stay in Wakanda. Said you aren’t allowed to travel around the nation without _authorized_ supervision.”

The smirk faltered. She looked away.

“You wanna tell me what that’s all about, Nat?”

“It’s one of the conditions for my stay.”

“Conditions…” Steve muttered under his breath.

“Yeah. It’s the best T’Challa could pull off. He might be the King, but democracy still takes precedence hereabouts.”

“And what about freedom? Wasn’t that the whole point of this arrangement? To provide freedom?” Steve argued.

“Look, Steve. The conditions…those are inevitable. People just…” Natasha sighed, “People need safeguards. It’s how the world functions these days.”

“What about Bucky and I? I wasn’t told of any conditions applied to us.”

“Maybe not you. But I wouldn't be too sure about Barnes.”

“Guess I should’ve known that things aren’t that simple.”

“Those bureaucrats in Wakanda aren’t exactly happy about it, ya know, hiding the Winter Soldier from the authorities. But T’Challa did it anyway.”

Steve sighed, “Okay. So how does this work?”

“Well, Wakanda would protect me from the task force, or, basically whoever that's coming after me. They’d shelter me for as long as I wish. And I have access to every facility in Wakanda throughout my stay, including intel. But only if I comply with all their terms.”

“What terms?”

“Reduced mobility rights within the nation. I can’t move about unsupervised. And I’m prohibited from visiting any of Wakanda’s public places. And, they sort of kept my stay here a secret from Wakanda’s citizens. Barnes’ too, I bet. But that was only to avoid public provoca-”

Steve snorted deliriously.

“That’s _ridiculous_ , Nat. You wanna know what I did just this afternoon? I took a stroll in town. Had a nice, cozy chat with the locals. _Me._ World’s most wanted fugitive. Taking a goddamn stroll in town. Nobody seemed provoked to me.”

“But Steve. You’re Captain America. And I’m just… _me._ ”

“Come on, Nat. What diff-”

“It makes all the difference, okay? Unlike you, I have a questionable past. And so does Barnes.”

 _ **“Oh,**_ okay. So _that’s_ why they wouldn’t allow Bucky to take even one step off the WIS building. I see.” Steve remarked bitterly. 

“And I would’ve done the same. People might not be afraid of you, Steve, but they are of the Winter Soldier.”

“Fine, I get it if it’s Bucky. But what about you, Nat? Why’s all this even necessary for you?”

“T’Challa thinks it’s for the best. Said it’s for my own safety. He’s got a point though. It’s always a good idea to lay low.”

“I guess.” Steve threw her a resigned shrug, conceding the point to her.

Natasha's eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“I don't get why you're so beat up over this, Steve. We won’t even be staying here for long. We gotta move fast, remember? The rescue mission? It’s not like we have time to sight-see or anything…”

Steve thought of the little girl from the shop.

_Guess Adanna won’t be seeing her hero so soon after all._

A heavy sigh pushed through his parted lips. 

“No. You’re right. We don’t.”

“So…" Natasha drawled, her eyes narrowed further, "by right it shouldn’t even matter that much whether I have freedom of movement here in Wakanda or not…” 

She shot the soldier a pointed look. 

“Right.”

The spy eyed him sharply, “Uh-huh… so what’s this really about, Steve?”

“Nothing.”

Natasha snorted.

“You’re a shitty liar, Rogers.”

“Fine. I just… I don’t like it, okay? I don't like it when people treat you differently than they treat me. You deserve better than that.”

 _Technically,_ that wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

“It is what it is, Steve. Not everyone has a clean ledger.”

Steve warned, “ _Don’t_ , Nat. Don’t go there-”

“Forget it. I’m used to it by now. It’s no big deal.”

Steve sighed.

“Now you have me wondering how you even managed to get in at all, Nat. The entire airspace is heavily guarded. I saw triple-As stationed all over the place when we were onboard T’Challa’s jet. How'd you get past all that?”

“I didn’t have to. I came from the north where there's less artillery. T’Challa sent a drone to guide my quinjet to the airport.”

“A drone…” Steve’s eyes shone in amusement.

Natasha smirked.

“Yes. A drone. I could spell out its model name and serial number too, if you like.”

“No. That’s not necessary, Nat.” Steve paused, his mind recalling all the metal bots he’d seen floating around the WIS’ compound just this afternoon.

Yeah.

Wakanda was all about drones, apparently.

“You know what...It’s actually quite believable, what you just told me. Yeah. I think I can believe that.” Steve added dryly a second later.

“Oh.... _That_ you can believe. But not the fact that I’m now wearing a tampon between my legs.” she quipped saucily.

Steve blushed, “Oh, shut up.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What was that phone call about?”

He winked, “Like you said. A date with a special lady.”

She glared, “Deflect _again_ , Rogers, and you might as well just let me tase you with my gauntlets.”

Steve's breath hitched slightly at her harsh tone. 

“Or...would you prefer another 6 minutes of me straddling you?” She added slyly. And God  _damn it_ , just how the heck did her tone change from fiery to husky in such a short amount of time?! For a spit second, Steve's traitorous mind conjured up various images delineating the possibilities of such a voice transition, especially when applied to a bedroom setting. From the husky tones of seduction to the fiery tones of orgas-

Steve blushed. And tried _oh-so-damn-hard_ not to stare at her rack.

Steve took a tentative step back, not daring to be within two inch near the redhead right then, lest he did something incredibly stupid such as peeling that sinful bathrobe off her body.

Focus on the job. 

He had to focus on the job. 

“It’s about your injuries.” Steve stared pointedly at her throat, “Got you an appointment at Wakanda’s Health Institute.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as she huffed out irritably, "Ugh. I  _knew_ it!"

She pushed herself off the bathroom door and brushed past Steve towards the bed.

Steve stared after her, "Is there a problem?"

“Look, I appreciate it, Steve. But we don't have time, so I’m not going. And It’s just a couple of bruises. No muss, no fuss.” Natasha said dismissively.

Steve stalked after her.

“A couple of bruises that had you _moaning_ in pain just minutes ago.” He snapped.

When she reached the edge of the bed, she suddenly turned around to glare at him. He saw something flash across her eyes.

Defensiveness. Insecurity.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. Not some _invalid._ ”

Steve stopped in front of her.

With his thumb and index finger holding her chin, he slowly _but_ firmly, lifted her head so he could look into her mesmerizing eyes.

He smiled affectionately at first, and said, “I know you’re strong, Nat. You're the strongest woman I know. And I also know that you can handle yourself very well. Truth be told? I think you could even kick my ass most of the time, but….” Steve’s face turned serious immediately, “ _ **I**. **Don’t. Care.** _ You’re **_going_** to this appointment, Nat. You’re gonna be there, and you’re gonna sit down and do everything they tell you to do, no half-assing through it. And you’re gonna let them _take care_ of you. Do I make myself _clear_?”

Again, Steve saw her eyes turn several shades darker. And she bit down hard on her bottom lip. Hard enough to draw blood.

But the glare remained fixated on him. Tenacious and feisty.

The soldier held his ground.

“Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear. Avenger?” spoke the Captain.

Natasha huffed out a breath of annoyance and tore her eyes away from his.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good. Tomorrow afternoon. 3PM sharp. Health Institute. Somebody will pick you up at the lobby downstairs at 2.45” Steve said, releasing his hold on her chin.

“Do I get extra, extra omelettes for breakfast tomorrow?” the spy bargained.

“That won’t be a problem.” Steve smirked.

The spy plopped herself down on the bed.

“And since _when_ did you start pulling ranks on me?” the spy asked, her arms crossed in front of her breasts. Steve knew her well enough to know that it was a sign that she was clamming up again, hiding away her emotions behind snark and sarcasm.

“Probably around the same time I found out that a _certain_ master spy couldn’t lie worth a damn.” Steve quipped back.

The spy scowled at her partner.

_Okay. Wrong move._

Steve sighed and moved to sit down beside her on the bed.

“Look. You know that I truly only see you as my equal, Nat.”

“But? There’s a but, I know it.” Natasha said in indignation.

“ _But_ , at the same time, I also care about my partner’s well-being. Do you really expect me to do nothing about it when I know that she’s hurt? I can’t just do nothing, Nat. I _can’t._ I’ll do _anything_ , to make sure that she’s okay.” Steve explained.

“Which includes pulling ranks, by the way.” Steve added wryly a second later.

Natasha scoffed, “Yeah, you don’t have to remind me. You’ve done it _spectacularly._ ”

“Like I even have a choice not to, considering the stubbornness of a certain someone...” Steve muttered under his breath.

Natasha let out a little snort and gave a light shake of her head, “I _heard_ that.”

Steve sighed, “I did it because I _care_ about you, Nat. Is that really so hard to understand?”

Natasha finally uncrossed her arms and let both hands dropped onto her lap. Still, she said nothing to him, merely toyed endlessly with the ends of her bathrobe’s waistband.

Standing up from the bed, Steve moved to kneel down in front of her, doing everything in his power to _not_ stare at her legs as he tried to talk through that thick, stubborn skull of hers.

“Okay, look. What would you have done if our-” Steve halted suddenly in his sentence, pondering.

 _If our roles were reversed._ Those were the words he had wanted to say, but didn’t say.

Steve was about to throw out one of those hypothetical what-if scenarios, where he was the one getting hurt instead of her. But at the same time, he also didn’t want to _assume_ that she cared about him as much as _he_ cared about her. So, in the end he held his tongue.

“What?”

Natasha nudged him.

Steve recovered instantly, “I mean…what would _you_ have done if you found out that…uh…” Steve shrugged, “that… _Clint_ …was hurt, for instance? Wouldn’t you want to do everything you could to make sure that he’s alright?”

For a moment, Natasha shot him a weird look, like as if she was surprised by his mention of Clint’s name. But Steve spoke again before she had a chance to question him further, “Taking care of each other, that’s what partners do, Nat. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I assure you, I still see you as very much my equal, Nat. _Which is why_ I am trying so hard to make sure that you’re okay. Can’t let anything bad happen to my trusted equal can I? I mean, who else’s gonna be there to save my sorry ass next time if not for you, my badass, skillful and talented partner?” Steve threw her a dopey smile at the end.

Natasha relented and smiled back at him, “Fair enough.”

“Thank you. So you will go to this treatment?” Steve asked.

“Yeah.”

“And take what the doctors say seriously, okay? T’Challa spoke very highly of Wakanda’s medical facilities, and my gut tells me that he is somebody who lives up to his words.” Steve said.

“Okay…Thanks, Steve. For taking care of…”Natasha said coyly.

“You’re welcome, Nat.” Steve said as he stood up and walked over to where his bag lay.

 

* * *

 

Thinking of taking a shower, Steve procured his workout pants and a fresh pair of boxers from his bag. Just when he was about to zip up the bag, he suddenly remembered that he had a bottle of Vicodin stashed somewhere in the medical compartment. So he took those pills out too, figuring that Natasha could use the pill for her pain.  

“Hey, Nat. I’ve got some-” The words got stuck in Steve’s mouth as soon as he turned back around to face the spy.

_Oh God…_

Steve had turned around just in time to see the bathrobe slide down her body as she stood at the foot of the bed, rummaging through her duffel bag for something with one hand.

And her choice of night wear…

Steve gulped.

She had on a tight fitting black spaghetti-strap short tank top. The tank top’s length was just enough to cover her voluptuous breast, leaving her lean abs very much open to ogling.

And ogle he did.

He spotted her scars easily. The one on her left hip, where the Winter Soldier had shot her near Odessa. And the more recent one on her left shoulder, where she was shot in DC, also by the Winter Soldier. Those scars reminded Steve of her strength, her toughness, her lethality, and her tenacity. They were marks of her survival. In Steve’s eyes, her scars only served to augment her beauty, and to intensify her attractiveness, not the other way round.

Pfft, yeah. Because Steve Rogers could only ever be attracted to beautiful, strong, and badass women who could kick his ass a hundred times over, that was why.   

 _Bye-bye bikinis my ass, Romanoff._ Steve scoffed inwardly.

What she wore below her waist though…it was… _damn…_

It was an ultra-short black yoga pants which stopped a good couple of inches above mid-thigh, giving him an oh-so- _generous_ view of her thighs.

Jesus Christ. She might as well be walking around the room in her underwear at this rate.  

And those thighs… _Lord._ So beautiful and aesthetic, yet so lethal when used as a weapon. Believe it or not, at that moment, Steve was actually _envious_. Envious of those fucking goons back in Lagos, only because they had a chance to have her thighs wrapped around their necks – despite the fact that all of them winded up with broken necks in the end.

And it didn’t fucking help that the fabric of her yoga pants fit so tightly to her body, like a second skin. Nope. Not at all.

 _Is it just me, or did she get even more beautiful lately?_ Steve wondered to himself.

Hell yeah, she most definitely  _had_ gotten so much more beautiful lately, no doubt about that.

There was a certain glow radiating off of her from head to toe. And her curves, if anything, seemed far more prominent than Steve had ever remembered them to be. Not that he had been frequently checking out her…uhh… _assets_ in the past. It was because he couldn’t forget, okay? His eidetic memory, people, his eidetic memory, _sheesh_.

 _Maybe it’s because of Banner…_ Steve thought sadly.

Steve had read somewhere on the Internet about how being in love could have beautifying effects on a person. Yeah, that was probably the case, huh? Her feelings for Banner must’ve made her more beautiful than ever-

“Steve? You’re not hallucinating again are you?” Natasha’s voice snapped him out of his musings.

Steve locked gaze with her, and was met with her amused expression, both of her eyebrows arched high.

Steve cleared his throat.

“No.” Steve shook his head slightly in half stupor.

“And…? You were saying before…?” She was looking at him strangely now, with her head slightly raised.

Right.

SMACK!

He slammed the bottle of pills onto the night stand.

“Ahem. Uh. Here’s some Vicodin. If you need them.” Steve said.

“Err...okay...Not sure what the poor bottle ever did to you… but thanks.”

“Shut up, Nat.” Steve said affectionately and turned around to walk away from the night sta–  

CLANK!

Steve grunted in pain the moment he accidentally _rammed_ the toes of his right foot into the closet door’s sharp edge.

 _Stupid fucking moron._ Steve chided himself for his clumsiness – something which only seemed to happen around pretty dames, apparently.

_God, you’re acting real suave tonight, Rogers. Real suave._

Steve cursed under his breath before slamming the closet door shut forcefully.

The closet door closed with a loud bang.

“Steve?”

“Huh?” Steve’s gaze snapped to hers. She still stood at the foot of the bed. Though Steve now noticed two cute little hair bands in her hand. Perhaps those were what she had been rummaging for in her duffel.

She was looking back at him intently, concern clearly etched on her beautiful face.

Suddenly, her eyebrows quirked up in a mixture of suspicion and amusement, like as if a thought just came to her.

She smiled cheekily.

Steve sighed, “What _now?_ ”

“You didn’t actually _break_ the closet did you?” she teased.

He snorted.

“You know what? That didn’t hurt at all, Nat. My toes are just fine and dandy, by the way. Thanks a lot for asking, really.” Steve retorted dryly.

Natasha’s jaw dropped open in mock gasp, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “You broke it didn’t you?”

“ _No_. Why do you always assume that I’d break something?” Steve glared at her for emphasis.

Okay. _Technically,_ she wasn’t quite off the mark. He _did_ always end up breaking things. The rocks glass. The beer bottle. The stupid punching bag that Stark just wouldn’t shut up about. The handle of his bike. His _heart._ God. That list had no end. Pfft. It was all her fault that he broke those things, okay? Totally her fault.

Natasha did a hands-up gesture, albeit her face remained amused, “Well, alright… just checking is all. No need to get your _granny_ panties in a bunch.” 

Smug little minx.  

“Ahem. The Vicodin. You should take it. For the pain.” Steve said as a lame attempt to stifle the awkwardness encapsulating the room.

Of all the times they shared a room, this was by far the most awkward of all – at least for him. He wondered why. Pfft. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the little tease had been _straddling_ his lap and moaning straight into his ear just moments ago. Not that he was complaining. Although he would generally prefer it to happen under the circumstances where he could actually, ya know, ~~do _something_ about it ~~ do something about it which didn’t involve sticking his right hand into his pants.

“You know what, Steve… the Vicodin actually sounds really, _really_ , ideal right about now…” she said through gritted teeth.

Steve’s sight flew towards her figure at the clear pain and distress in her voice.

She had had her back turned towards him and both her arms lifted up above her head in an effort to tie her hair.

Discarding the fresh change of clothes in his hands onto the bed, Steve moved to her side in an instant.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He offered kindly.

“Nah. It’s alright, I think I got it Steve.” she said at the same time she turned around to face the supersoldier.

Another wave of arousal washed over him at the sight of her.

And thereupon, his blue eyes darkened.

_So beautiful…_

Only now did he know that even an act as mundane as hair tying could be so fucking attractive when carried out by the right person.

Both of her arms were raised above her head, and she had a pink hair band caught between her lips. The second hair band dangled loosely around her right wrist. Due to her state of ‘undress’, Steve couldn’t help but notice the smooth skin of her underarms. He wondered what it’d feel like to run his tongue along her smooth skin, or how she’d taste like.

And not to mention the fact that the outlines of her chest were rendered much more conspicuous with both of her arms lifted above her head like that.

Steve bit back a groan.  

_Christ. You’re killing me, Romanoff…_

Eventually, Steve had enough of seeing her fumbling around her hair with no success. She was clearly in serious pain, but was just too goddamn stubborn to admit it. The sight of her pretty face scrunched up in excruciating pain was the last straw for Steve.

Without another second’s hesitation, Steve quickly closed the remaining gap between them and said, “Come here, let me help you with that.”

“You know how to tie a girl’s hair?” Natasha eyed the soldier skeptically after he plucked the pink hair band from between her lips.

“Not the fancy up-dos. But I do okay for a simple bun…” Steve replied as he began walking past Natasha to stand behind her back.

“Wow,” came Natasha’s strained voice as she let both of her hands fall to her sides, the act was immediately followed by a groan of pain, “Captain America tying a girl’s hair……huh, now how about _that_.”

Steve snorted, “Just keep this between us.”

“Why? This some secret fetish of yours?” Natasha teased.

“God, _no._ Why would you even–” Steve sighed, “you know what, I’m not even gonna ask.”

Natasha chuckled, “Okay. So why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the secrecy? You ashamed of your hair-dressing skills?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Either you tell me, or I pick up the phone right now and leave an anonymous tip to the Smithsonian. Your choice. I bet the Smithsonian would jump at the chance to add another item onto your massive portfolio.”

Steve scoffed, “Fine, I’ll tell you. Jesus, Nat. What’s the big deal?”

Natasha snorted, “What’s the big deal? You tell me. I’m not the one with all the need for secrecy.”

Steve wisely bit back a comment about her having infinitely more _secrets_ that he ever would.

Yeah. Probably one of the wisest decision he’d made in his entire pathetic life. Unless he wanted to start another screaming match right then and there.

He cleared his throat.

“I…uh… figured that I’d stay away from the media’s attention for a while.” said Steve.

“The media? What’s the media got to do with that?”

“You know how I used to be involved in the advertising business during the war, right?”

“You mean your USO tours?”

“Yeah. Horrible times. I was used as a mascot to sell war bonds. Hated every second of it.”

“Uh-huh. So you hated the advertising business…”

“Yeah.”

“And… that’s it? That’s the reason?”

“What? Can’t you imagine if somehow people found out that I did your hair?” Steve shuddered, “ _God forbid_ they ask me to appear on hair commercials next.”

Natasha’s shoulders began trembling as a peal of laughter burst through her lips.

“Ouch. Ouch. Ow. Hey! Stop making me laugh, my throat’s hurting.” the spy managed to croak out in between fits of laughter.

“You’re the one who asked…” Steve muttered under his breath.

“Ow… that hurts” said the spy when her laughter subsided.

“Sorry…” Steve cringed, “Wanna take the Vicodin now?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll take it later.”

“But just now you said-”

“I’m _fine_. I’ll take it later.”

“You sure?”

“ ** _Yes_** , I’m sure. Right now I’m quite happy being served by Hairdresser _America_ here.” She let out a breathy laugh, “It’s not every day a girl gets all _historic_ and _patriotic_ like this.”

Steve chuckled and began toweling the tips of her hair that was still slightly moist from her shower.

He worked in silence, admiring her beautiful, thick and rich tresses as he ran the towel continuously through her hair.

 _She has such beautiful hair._ He mused, thinking that at this rate, he’d seriously consider quitting his day job and become Natasha’s personal hairdresser instead. Surely that’d be more fun rather than say, beating up thugs who seriously smelled like they hadn’t showered in decades. Plus, just imagine smelling them up-close, and with an enhanced sense of smell even. Yikes.      

“So………” Natasha drawled, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“ _What?”_ said Steve with a wide grin.

He flung the towel onto the bed, satisfied then with the lack of dampness on her gorgeous hair.

“Captain America knows how to tie a girl’s hair, huh?”

“Aye, aye, Captain Obvious.” Steve quipped, as he ran his fingers through her red locks to smoothen them out.

And _boy_ was her scent a taste of heaven. Intoxicating. Inebriating. Befuddling. Arousing _._ _Dick-hardening._

God Almighty. If this was what her hair smelled like, he wondered how much more intoxicating she’d smell like between her le-

Red-headed hulk, wearing a green dress, _dancing_ a duet with a red-headed Thor.

“Interesting…” Natasha drawled again, coaxing yet another snort and an eye-roll from Steve.

“Come on, Nat. Out with it.”

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

Steve smiled at the question.  

“Guess that really depends, doesn’t it? Do you feel lucky?” Steve deadpanned, drawing out a soft laugh from the spy.

“Smartass.” Natasha muttered under her breath, causing Steve to smirk in amusement.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Oh, come on, you know what I meant, Steve. You must’ve practiced on a girl before this, right? What, don’t tell me you used _dolls_ while you were younger? Cause that’d just be creepy.”

Steve guffawed out loud at her quip.

“Well, if you must know…” Steve said as he leisurely gathered her red locks into a high ponytail, “It was my mother. That was how I learnt to tie a woman’s hair.”

Steve _very_ slowly began securing the ponytail into place with the first hair band. Admittedly, he was a bit out of touch with his hairdressing skills. Not like there was anyone he could practice his skills on anyway (he wouldn’t consider pulling baddies’ hair off their scalps as hairdressing, so…).  

“When I was younger, I always wanted to help out, to ease my Ma’s burden…” Steve reached for the second hairband looped around her wrist once the ponytail was secured, “But I wasn’t exactly the healthiest kid back then… so I stuck to the small things, _or,_ girlish things, as Bucky called them. I did the dishes, I boiled soup, I cooked, I knitted… And some other times, I’d help tie my Ma’s hair, when she’d fallen ill due to over exhaustion.”

The spy kept quiet, clearly having no clue on how to respond to that little tidbit from Steve’s childhood.

Steve chuckled, “Bucky… he…uhh… he always teased me for doing all those girly stuff back then, like sketching, cooking, and _tying a girl’s hair_ , apparently. Never really let me hear the end of it.”

There was something in Steve’s voice, something akin to sadness and _pain_ that compelled Natasha to change the subject, to ease Steve’s pain from the things in his life that he had lost. 

“Well, I’m certainly not one to complain, since you’re saving me an _awful_ lot of pain right now. But, it _is_ a pretty useful skill for a guy if you ask me.” Natasha said.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah? Useful how? I like keeping my hair short. And it’s not like I get to tie someone’s hair every now and then. Pretty sure it’s weird to stick around those goons that we beat up on a daily basis just to _tie their hair._ ” Steve said. He was then halfway through securing her bun in place with the second hair band.

Natasha chuckled.

Trying his best to keep his tone light, Steve added, “And plus, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Natasha’s chuckle turned into a super duper, mega-sized snort, “Yeah, serves you right for being so goddamned picky.”

Steve scoffed, “I’m not… _picky._ I’m just…” Steve sighed. _Waiting for the right woman…_

“No, you’re not picky. Tell that to the 168 women I tried to set you up with over the years. I’m sure they’d agree.” Natasha stated dryly.

Steve gave a noncommittal hum, focusing instead on fixing her bun up.

The spy continued her rant.

“And _what IS_ your problem with those women anyway? They’re all handpicked by _me._ See? They’re nice, they’re beautiful, they’re sexy, and most importantly, they’re all _interested._ ” Natasha said grumpily.  

Steve’s hands faltered.

 _But none of them were you…_ Steve thought sadly.

“Well, I ain’t interested in any of them, that’s why.” Steve fired back.

“Yeah. And now you’re stuck with nobody to practice your _hairdressing_ skills on. So, congratulations.” Natasha smirked, “Now I’m seriously considering getting you a set of Barbie dolls for your next birthday. For you to practice on. Oh hey, there’re also the types that can be used for _OTHER,_ purposes. I mean if you ever feel… _lonely._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve rolled his eyes and returned to his task.

“Or……” Natasha drawled teasingly, “you could always tie Barnes’ hair… he’s got some pretty nice hair don’t you think? Silky… long… and black…imagine running your fingers along those sexy, dark and slick-”

“Jesus… _Christ. Natasha!_ How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not like _that_ between Bucky and I. I’m hundred percent straight, okay?”

The room was filled with Natasha’s laughter in the next instant, and for that, Steve couldn’t help the tiny smile that formed on his own lips too.

They stood in silence as Steve did final touch ups on her bun. Well, he didn’t really have to. Really.  I mean, pulling a few strands of hair out of her bun to give it a little more ‘messy’ look? That’s completely unnecessary, right? Perhaps he could chalk it up to his artistic whims?

Or perhaps he just liked the feeling of being so physically close to her, and wanted the moment to last longer.  

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You know Josephine?”

“Sorry, no. Who’s-” Steve blurted out, and soon realized his mistake.

Well, too little too late.

“Oh, she’s that cutie back at the compound. The one I told you about last time. She seemed kinda nice-” Natasha said before being thoroughly cut-off by Steve’s groan of exasperation.

“Oh _God,_ Nat. Not this again…”

“What? She’s cute. And I’ve seen her checking out your ass a few times-”

Steve blushed hard.

“Oh, Jesus. Come _on,_ Natasha! Will you please just quit it with the matchmaking already?!”

“Alright… your loss then…” Natasha sing-sang.  

“There, you’re all set.” Steve said after a while.

He took a step back to admire his work.

Natasha strolled slowly towards the dressing table for the mirror.

“Whaddaya think?” asked Steve tentatively when she began inspecting her hair on the mirror.

“Hmm. Not bad... Gotta say, Steve, you’ve got some mad skills. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” the spy commented lightly.

 _Too bad I don’t want just any girl…_ Steve thought wistfully.

“Glad you like it.” Steve blushed and dipped his head, staring at the blood-vodka stain which remained on his feet.  

Natasha turned away from the mirror and slowly walked back towards where Steve stood.

When Steve raised his head, she was standing before him with a teasing smile.

“What is it?” Steve asked shyly.

“Nothing. It’s just…” the teasing smile on Natasha’s face quickly faded and was replaced by a sorrowful half-smile, “this is actually the first time I’ve ever had someone do my hair for me… as in, like, do my hair in a casual kinda way, not the going-to-the-beauty-salon type of hair-doing, if you know what I mean…”

Steve took heed of the change in her mood, along with the sentiments behind her comment. Of _course_ she’d feel sad. Natasha had had nearly _everything_ stripped away from her ever since childhood. Even as a young girl, she had lost many privileges that every child deserves. She was literally left with _nothing._

 _Nothing._ Not even a chance to share a cute hairdo session with her beloved mother, apparently.

Those sick monsters…

Steve closed the remaining distance between them until he felt their toes touching. Both of his hands held her deltoids in a firm but comforting grip.

“I wish……” Steve shook his head lightly, “Sometimes, I really wish I could’ve done more.” Steve sighed.

Giving in to the pool of comfort and warmth that was the supersoldier’s torso, Natasha placidly leaned her body forward until her forehead touched against Steve’s sternum.

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked in a small voice.

Steve had then begun running both of his hands along the length of her arms in a soothing pattern, “I mean back in the past. I just…” Steve shook his head once more, “seeing the world as it is today, I can’t help but think I hadn’t really done a good job back then… there were so many things I didn’t do, or some that I did do, but didn’t do well enough. Heck, I didn’t even manage to fulfill the one purpose I was created for…” Steve’s voice turned into a bitter sneer next, “HYDRA not only lived, but it _thrived_.”

Steve sighed and dropped his head forward until he felt the top of Natasha’s bun tickling his cheekbones.

He went on, “And as long as HYDYA lives, the dead bodies just keep piling up. Jesus, Nat. Count the dead. Thousands of innocent people, _good_ people _,_ _children._ And more will die if we don’t find a way to stop HYDRA once and for all.”

Natasha’s arms inadvertently wrapped themselves around Steve’s waist in a comforting hug.

“We will, Steve. We _will_.”

Steve spoke on, “I found out about the Red Room academy just a few days after I came out of the ice… Learned about it when I was reading though Peggy’s files. Peggy…she, uh, do you know that she used to be involved in operations to take down the Red Room?”

Natasha hummed her acknowledgement, still reveling in the warmth emanating from Steve’s body, savoring the heat where their bodies touched.

Steve kept on talking, “God, Nat… There’re so many things that I could’ve done better…. I mean… for instance, if I had survived the war without ever being frozen in ice… then maybe… just maybe, I could’ve helped take down the Red Room, and the Leviathan too, and then you and the rest of the girls would never ever have to-”

“ _Steve_ …”

Her sharp tone had Steve flinching. It was admonitory. And reprimanding.

She continued firmly, “If things didn’t turn out the way they did, the planet would be swarming with the Chitauri by now, or at the very least, New York would’ve become the second Chernobyl.”

“I know… I know… I’m not making any sense, I know…” Steve sighed heavily, and squeezed his eyes shut, “I just wished that there was, _something,_ that I could’ve done to save you from all those years of horrors… ”

“I get it, Steve. I really do. But sometimes, things just happen. Like what you always tell Tony. Sometimes there’s just no way out…”

Steve let out a humorless chuckle.

“Just between the two of us though? I’m actually with Tony on that one. Because to be honest, I really hated it when there’s no way out. But yeah…you’re absolutely right, sometimes things just… couldn’t be helped. I kinda learnt that lesson the hard way.” Steve dropped his head in shame, “Sorry, I haven’t been thinking straight these days have I? With everything that’s been going on… Peggy’s death, the team’s disbandment and all… Guess I must’ve taken a big hit emotionally… Jesus, I’m not even supposed to _act_ this way. I’ve never……”

Steve lifted his uninjured hand and ran it through his hair once, “God, what was I even saying? I’m so sorry, Nat. Just ignore me.”

“Steve. Look at me.”

He did. Her eyes were soft and gentle. It felt comforting when she looked at him like that, exactly like the look she gave him at the church when they had talked after Peggy’s memorial service.

“Would you do me a favor?” Natasha asked when she knew she had Steve’s attention.

 _And call that nurse?_  The fragment of memory from that day at the cemetery surged back into Steve’s head.

No. He never did call that nurse. Because she wasn’t the one he’d wanted to call. 

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

“Please… just… give yourself break, okay? Put everything aside, and just… _rest._ And that means stop blaming yourself for whatever that happened, stop thinking about what you could’ve have done better, and stop thinking about the what-ifs. Can you do that for me, Steve? At least for tonight?”

Steve let out a sigh and nodded, “I’ll try to.”

“Good.”

A few seconds later, the spy added, “You need to be okay, Steve, you hear me? Because the world still needs you. The world still needs Captain America.”

Steve let out a sad chuckle, “Fifty bucks says you’re wrong. If you need proof, just turn on the TV.”

The self-doubt she saw clouding Steve’s eyes stirred up a concoction of emotions within the spy. Hurt. It hurt to see him like this. This defeated and vanquished man standing before him wasn’t the Steve Rogers she knew. The Steve Rogers she had fallen in love with didn’t _do_ giving-ups. The Steve Rogers she knew was the one with the strongest heart, the man with an almost indomitable will.

But right now, the man standing in front of her looked like a man who’d truly lost everything. A man who had lost all his sense of purpose.

God, how she hurt for him. Hurt for him, because of how unfairly the world was then treating its many-times savior. Countless of times had Steve Rogers sacrificed his life for the sake of the world. He gave the world his everything. And yet **_this_** was how the world had chosen to return the favor. By having his mugshot spread all over the news.

Oh, how Natasha ached for the man in front of her. How her heart clenched at the sight of his tired features, at the lack of light and hope in his eyes. But more than anything else, even more than the hurt she'd felt, Natasha also felt determination. She was determined to convince him otherwise. She was determined to fix him. She needed to patch him up, to make him okay again.

Natasha pushed every ounce of strength she had left into her next words, “I mean it, Steve. The world needs _you_. _We,_ need you. We need you to be in good shape, physically, mentally, _and emotionally._ ”

Steve brows creased into a frown, though the self-doubt in his eyes cleared a little, and was replaced with a tinge of warmth, and suspicion.

Suspicion.

Sus-fucking-picion.

 _God, Steve. What had this stupid world done to you?_ The spy thought, feeling rage building up within her.    

“Thanks, Nat. But where’s this suddenly coming from?”

Natasha expelled a jet of air through her nostrils.

“Look, let’s be frank here. You’re the only one truly capable of leading the Avengers, Steve. There’s nobody else, there never has been. And everybody knows that. _Yes,_ even Tony. Yes, even _Thor._ We all know that. So, when the time comes? You’re gonna have to be ready, because without you, the Avengers is _nothing_. Without a good leader… without _you_ , we don’t stand a chance against whatever threats that we’re bound to face. The Avengers would be a mess without its leader.”

Steve’s eyes glazed over at her words. The suspicion cleared away in his eyes, and was replaced with more warmth.

“But I’m okay, Nat. I’m fine. I’ll be ready when the time comes. I _am_ ready.” he said the last part with as much conviction he could muster.

The spy shook her head, “No…” She paused for a second before continuing, “No. You’re not. You could never be ready, Steve. Not like _this_. Not when some part of you is still bogged down by your past. Not when your _demons_ still haunt your sleep every night. Take it from someone like me, someone who’s been struggling with her demons for pretty much her _entire_ adult life. _Believe me,_ I _KNOW,_ okay? I _know,_ that deep down, I’m still… _compromised_ , at least emotionally.” Natasha threw him a pointed look, “And you know better than anyone else what compromisation entails, don’t you?”

Steve dipped his head slightly, knowing full well that she was referring to Bucky, and how terribly compromised his childhood friend truly was. Truth was, Steve needed no reminder. He had seen it with his own two eyes, just how much HYDRA had fucked up Bucky’s mind, _compromising it_ to the point where Bucky could be forced to act against his will at the mere mention of a few goddamn words in the right sequence.

Natasha picked up where she left off, “Once you’re compromised? Things could go wrong in the worst possible ways. And trust me, Steve, _wrong_ would be the last thing that we’d want to be dealing with when the whole world’s at stake.”

Steve’s mind was racing, crunching and absorbing every single one of her words. He had his own words, but at that moment, none of them could form on his lips, almost as if his mouth couldn’t keep up with his raging mind.

She had a point. He knew that. But somehow, it still felt like a slap in his face, that moment of recognition, of _awakening_ ; when he finally realized just _how much_ he had allowed his demons to have control over him all these while, even during the times when he was neck-deep in missions. Those were, decidedly, moments in his life that he wasn’t (and would never be) proud of.

“That mission in Lagos is a prime example of what I’m talking about here, Steve.” Natasha stared pointedly into his eyes, “Wanda told me everything. Rumlow mentioned Bucky, and you froze.”

And, yeah. _THAT_. Steve still hadn’t completely gotten over his guilt over that incident. As if he ever would.

“I know. That’s completely my-”

Natasha’s head lolled back as she closed her eyes with a tired sigh, “Steve, _please_ … I’m not blaming you… I’m just…”

Her eyes slowly reopened as she held his gaze once more, “I’m just trying to make a point, okay? You see, whatever your demons are, your enemies _will_ find a way to use them against you. That’s just exactly what Rumlow did, Steve. And it _worked,_ dammit _._ It fucking _worked_. God. Do you know how _close_ we came to _losing you_ back there, Steve? Do you?! _Jesus,_ if it hadn’t been for Wanda……if it hadn’t been for her, I can’t even _imagine_ …” Natasha’s body tensed up as she exhaled raggedly, her eyes fluttered close.

“I know… I know… Come here, Nat. Come here.”

Steve wrapped both arms around the spy protectively, an act which Natasha gladly mirrored. Without breaking the embrace, they both shared a moment of comfort, savoring the brief moment of shared intimacy.

“Tony.” Natasha’s voice ended the brief silence, drawing a look of confusion from Steve’s countenance.  

“What about Tony?” Steve pulled away slightly.

“Tony is another example, I mean, of compromisation gone horribly wrong. He had his demons too.” Natasha let out a bitter chuckle, “The wealthiest and smartest man on Earth, one with full access to the greatest tech on the planet. _Compromised._ And just look how that turned out.” Natasha commented humorlessly.

Steve’s eyes widened in understanding, “Ultron…”

Natasha nodded sadly, “Maximoff used Tony’s demons against him. Voila, Ultron was born. And the world nearly ended _._ ”

“Yeah…” came Steve’s dejected response.   

“Listen to me closely, Steve. Compromisation isn’t something that we can afford. Especially in _you_ , the leader in charge of a group of highly volatile super-powered team, do you understand that? You _need_ to be _okay._ You need to heal.” Natasha's emerald eyes pierced deeply into Steve’s baby blues.

Steve nodded, “Could say the same about you, too, Nat. You have the worst demons among us all.”

Natasha flashed him a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Thing is, though, my job’s different than yours. My job isn’t to lead. So in some ways, I’m still able function, despite all my baggage. But you, Steve. You carry the weight of the world, and of the _future_. You _need_ to be clear-headed, to be _ready,_ to be _free_ of your demons. Like I said, we can’t afford otherwise.”

Steve pondered her words in silence while the spy reassured, “I’m not trying to put pressure on you by saying all these, okay? I’m just saying what has to be said. The world needs the Avengers, and the Avengers? _They_ need Captain America.” Natasha inhaled slowly, “So please try, Steve? I know it’s not easy, but you have to try. It’s for the world’s sake as much as your own.”

Steve lifted his right hand onto her cheek in a casual stroke and smiled, “Yeah, okay. I will.”

“Good.”

“I have a question though.” Steve said.

“Shoot.”

“How long have you been wanting to tell me all these?” Steve asked gently, his hand never leaving her cheek.

Natasha sighed, “Been wanting to talk to you ever since I heard from Wanda about what happened between you and Rumlow in Lagos.” Natasha rolled her eyes and scoffed, “But then those assholes walked in with the Accords, and then things just kinda went to shit from there. Never really had much chance to talk. I mean, it’s pretty difficult to start a meaningful conversation when you’re busy cleaning up shit, so...” Natasha threw in a wry smile at the last part.

“I see.” Steve said while he avoided her eyes, wondering if the things that he had done so far were also included in her ‘shit package’.

“But I suppose I could’ve told you back in London… I mean, after Agent Carter’s memorial service.” said the spy.

“Well why didn’t you?”

“It didn’t seem like the right time. You were grieving.”

Steve gaze softened immediately as he continued stroking over her sharp cheekbone with feathery touches, “Thank you, Nat, for setting me straight. I needed those words. They mean a lot to me. So, thank you.”

Natasha smiled back at him, “It’s alright. It’s what partners are for.”

For a moment, they just stared into each other’s eyes, like what they had done for perhaps more than thousands of times over the years, reveling in the familiarity of the act, seeking the comfort and _strength_ in each other’s eyes.

It really felt like they were back at the church that held Peggy’s memorial once again, delving deep into each other’s souls...

The comfort they'd managed to convey and deliver just by looking at each other, like they could touch each other's souls without  _actually_ touching. 

Touching without touching.

Such a magical thing.

 _“_ _Well, then what are you doing here?”_

_“I didn’t want you to be alone……”_

Steve inhaled deeply and spoke, “Hey, umm, listen…”

“Hmm?” came her response.

“While we’re on the subject of pasts and demons, there’s also something I’ve been meaning to say to you for a long time now. I know that it might not matter much, and heck, it might even sound a little cliché, but I… uh… I just wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that I care _._ ”

“Shoot.”

“I _am_ truly sorry, for whatever that happened to you all those years ago. What you had been through as a child…” Steve closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the images of young Natalia being tortured, “No child ever deserved that. I know that it's hard to let go, and I know that you're always beating yourself up about your past, but I want you to know that none of what happened was ever your fault, okay? You were innocent.”

The spy tensed up ever so slightly at his words and immediately dropped her arms from his waist.

As if sensing her distress, Steve’s hands instinctively reached out and began tracing soothing patterns on her forearms.

“You _are_ a good person, Nat.”

A humorless laugh escaped her.

Steve frowned.

“There used to be people who believed that… but guess what? They all ended up dead. By _my_ hands.” the spy said bitterly as she tried to pull herself away from their shared proximity.

But Steve’s hold on her arms was firm and unyielding.

“Those people died because of the Red Room, Nat. They died because of the KGB. Not because of you.”

Natasha threw him a look that was a mixture of incredulity and defensiveness.

“I _pulled_ the trigger…”

“From a gun that was _forced_ into your hands by those monsters.”

“But I… I… I _let_ them. I…I _took_ the gun. I let them use me as a weapon, Steve.” Natasha argued weakly.

“You were just a child, Natasha, you didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, maybe I did.” she said harshly.

Steve’s expression hardened with disapproval.

“Come on, Nat, one child against a room full of people with guns, you call that choice? Do you seriously believe that you stood a chance under those circumstances? Look, you didn’t stand a chance, okay? You couldn’t have. You merely did what every child would’ve done in order to survive, you followed your instincts–”

“A killer following her instincts to kill, that sounds about right I suppose.” Natasha spat venomously. 

“ _God, no!!_ Your instincts aren’t despicable, Nat. Your instincts were to survive, to fight for your life. None of that is despicable. What those monsters did to take advantage of your survival instincts for their own evil agendas… Now, _that,_ is despicable.”

“But I could’ve…” Natasha sighed and touched her forehead against Steve’s pecs, quickly losing her energy to argue further.

“What?” Steve gave her a nudge.

She shook her head against his chest.

“I could’ve taken my own life. That way they would’ve had one less human weapon… the _world_ , would’ve had one less human weapon.”

“Yeah? I bet the Chitauri would’ve loved that.” Steve quipped.

Natasha snorted before she thumped lightly on Steve’s chest with her fist, “ _Smartass._ ” Yet she couldn’t hide the smile forming on her lips, a smile which was immediately buried in the fabric of Steve’s white tank top.

“But ain’t that the truth? We never would’ve have won the Battle of New York without you, Nat.”

“I guess…?” said Natasha timidly.

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

_One of these days, Nat. One of these goddamn days I’m gonna finally change how you see yourself._

“Yeah, well, guess _harder_. Because that’s the honest-to-God truth, okay? A lot of people would have been dead by now if it weren’t for you… so quit selling yourself short.”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re a little deluded, Rogers?” Natasha scoffed.

Steve snorted, “Try spending the first two decades of your life as a 100-pound sickly punk who daydreams about joining the army and stopping bullies. Trust me, you’ll find yourself getting those talks about delusions _all the time._ ”

Natasha cringed and shook her head a little, “Oh God... Steve. I’m sorry… I didn't...I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Nat. No offense taken.” He offered a quick smile.

“Fine. Why don’t you enlighten me to the identities of these alleged ‘ _a lot of people who would’ve been dead’_ you were referring to.” said the spy, refusing to back away from the challenge.

Perhaps she just needed some reminder, some reminder of the good that she had brought to this world.

Steve scoffed, “You seriously telling me that you don’t know? Gee. Who’s the one with the delusions now?”

Steve jumped a little when he felt a hard pinch against his rock solid abdominal muscles, causing him to grin widely.

“Stop being a smartass and answer the damn question, Rogers.”

Steve’s hands crept up to her shoulders as he leaned back to stare into her face, his eyes seeking hers in an earnest stare.

“Well, for starters, there’s me, _and Sam–_ Hey! Didn’t I _just_ tell you that about an hour ago? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about it already.” Steve look at her through arched brows.

“No, I _didn’t_.” She blushed and quickly hid her face in the warmth of Steve’s chest.

“And she says _I’M_ the one with the old-age dementia… _._ ” Steve muttered under his breath, earning him another playful, open-palm smack on his chest.

There, with her face snug against Steve’s chest, Natasha was grinning widely like a Cheshire cat. Because deep down, she kinda loved it when Steve was being a sassy smartass. Not that Steve ever needed to know.

The soldier continued rattling off his list of ‘people who would’ve been dead’, sounding smugger each time the list grew longer.

“And then there’s Clint, Tony, Hill, Fury, that high school valedictorian from Iowa, that TV anchor from Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, some Stephen Strange guy, and hey, though I personally don’t think that the helicarriers could do jack squat to harm the Hulk but let’s just add Banner onto the list for argument’s sake … _in fact_ , every single one of Insight’s targets would have been dead by now if it weren’t for you… oh, and while we’re at that, how about we add every citizen of Midtown Manhattan onto that list too, huh? Then let’s not forget the people of Sokovia… and the people in Lagos… shall I go on?” Steve smirked.

Natasha threw him a half-glare.

“I mean, I could do this all day, or, all night, if you wish.” The smirk widened on Steve’s face.   

“It was a team effort.” Natasha said in dismissal.

 _Clearly,_ she had gone along with her usual MO: downplaying her own contributions.

“A team effort that wouldn’t have succeeded if it weren’t for you.” Steve stated firmly.

“But-”

“But _nothing_ , Natasha. We couldn’t have done any of those things without you. I know it. _You_ know it.” Steve interjected smugly.

The spy buried her face into Steve’s chest again, trying to hide the blush creeping up her face.

Fine. She _clearly_ lost that round.

“Ugh… _Hate_ it when you’re right.” her voice was muffled by the fabric of his tank top.

“I don’t know, Nat. I’m kinda lovin’ it so far.” Steve said, and felt her smile forming against his chest once again.

“And since when did you become so wise anyway?” Natasha said, nudging his thigh with her hip. Steve had to stifle a groan at the feel of her curvaceous hips brushing against his limb.   

“They say it comes with age. So you’ll probably get there one day.” Steve said wryly.

Natasha chuckled in response.

“How do you keep _doing_ this, Steve?” Natasha wondered aloud.

“Do what?”

Natasha gestured at the meagre space separating their bodies, “ _This!_ ”

 _What, like, having the woman of my dreams snug in my arms? Yeah. I only_ **WISH** _I could keep doing that._

Seeing Steve’s arched eyebrows, Natasha quickly clarified, “I mean, seeing the good in virtually _everyone._ Even in people like me, people whose hands are stained with so much innocent blood.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I see it because _it’s_ _there_ to be seen, Natasha. _There is_ a lot of good in you.” Steve answered without so much as a blink of his eye.

But apparently, Steve must have said something wrong, because all of a sudden, Natasha recoiled away from his embrace.

“You don’t know that, Steve.” Natasha said as she crossed her arms in front of her breasts. Her defensive fortress was up again. 

“Oh, believe me, Nat. I _know._ With two hundred percent certainty.” said Steve, the conviction clear and unwavering in his voice.

“You keep saying that when you don’t know _half_ the things I did…” Natasha huffed.

“Well maybe you’re just seeing things the wrong way, Nat. Maybe you should really start asking yourself about the reason why there are still people who could see the good in you _despite_ all the things you’d done in the past. Ever thought about that?” Steve challenged.

Just like that, Natasha was stunned into silence.

“Clint saw it.” Steve said several seconds later.

Her eyes grew slightly wider as she let both of her arms fall from her breasts to her sides.

“Clint…” Natasha uttered the name softly, like it was some sort of magical spell, or a word extracted from a lullaby.

“ _Yes_. Clint. Ya’ know? The Hawkeye? Guy with the fancy bow and arrows? Pretty sure you know him.” Steve quipped, trying to ease the tension in the room. 

When Natasha didn’t respond, Steve went on, “Clint Barton, _the man_ , who has the sharpest set of eyes on the entire goddamn planet, Nat, and _**he** _ saw it. Like it or not, that’s gotta _mean_ something, right? Clint saw something in you, something that _we all_ see, something that made him think you deserved a second chance, Nat. He saw the _good_ in you. That was why, instead of ending your life, he chose to pull you out. He _chose_ to save your life.”

Natasha gasped stridently upon Steve’s words.

“Oh, Steve… How could you even… How do you…” she let out a gush of breath “You’re just so……  ** _YOU._** God, you’re _impossible_.” Natasha whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion.

When she looked back up at him, Steve caught a glimpse of something in her tear-brimmed eyes, something all too familiar. Because he had seen that very same look in her eyes two years ago, when they were both holed up in Sam’s apartment.     

Gratitude.

He saw gratitude shining through her emerald eyes.

And that spurred Steve on even more as the words kept pouring out of his mouth. He just couldn’t stop himself. Consequences be damned. Full speed ahead.   

“And for God’s sake, it wasn’t just Clint, okay? A whole bunch of others had seen it too. _Fury_ , clearly saw enough goodness in you for him to take you under his wing, right? He made a clear choice to protect you from your past. He was the one who made the final call to give you a life in SHIELD wasn’t he? Look, _the point is,_ if you can’t trust _my words_ about you being a good person, then, _fine,_ I could live with that. But at least think about the people who had given you a second chance in life back then. Clint… Fury… Maria… _Coulson_. Think about them, Nat. Don’t you trust their judgement?”

Natasha nodded. The pool of tears in her eyes finally became too heavy for her eyelashes to bear as they slid down the apples of both her cheeks, wetting the smooth planes of her face.

“I do trust them.” she said softly as she swiped her tears away.

“Then you gotta start _believing_. Start believing that they made the right call all those years ago, that they were absolutely, one-hundred and ten percent, _right_ about you being a good person.”

Natasha let out something almost akin to a whimper as she shook her head fervently, causing a tendril to stray from her bun and fall over her forehead, “I trust them, okay? And I trust _you._ ” Natasha’s gaze shifted to her feet, “It’s just _me_ that I don’t trust.”

Steve tilted her chin up gently before moving to tuck the escaped tendril behind her ear.

“I know… Nat. I get it. And I think I might even know the reason for that.” Steve whispered.

“You do?” the spy murmured, her voice slightly higher in pitch than usual.

“Yes.”

Natasha exhaled unsteadily, feeling every inch of her resolve and walls crumble under the weight of Steve’s intense stare.

“Tell me.”

“Because you were all alone back then.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. You hadn’t been reminded of the good in you for a very, very long time, Nat. I mean, back in the Red Room, there wasn’t anyone around capable of that, was there?”

The latter part had been rhetorical, obviously. 

The spy said nothing, merely stared vacantly into Steve’s chest. Though from the way her eyes danced around in their sockets, Steve knew that she was pondering upon the meaning of his words, and that he still held her attention.

There was a short moment of quietude, where both the soldier and the spy remained deeply engaged in their own thoughts, and memories.

The sweet tranquility persisted until Steve’s voice broke through it.  

“Nat, you were forced into a world full of darkness, full of evil and immorality and _degeneracy._ ” Steve scoffed, “And worst, you were only a _kid_ when that happened.”

Steve kept on going, “So much evil happening around you… and yet there was nothing, _nobody, no one,_ to keep you grounded in rectitude. It’s like…being trapped in a dark cave without a candle or a torchlight for years. And when you finally climb out of the cave, your eyes would sting, they’d hurt the moment you see light. Because after being in darkness for so long, eventually, you’d forget what goodness taste like. You’d become afraid of what it _means_ to be good. You weren’t accustomed with good anymore. Goodness became a foreign concept. Your only memories of your past were those that they had implanted in you, those of you being forced to partake in evil deeds. You see, _that’s_ why you couldn’t trust yourself, Nat. Because those memories that were planted in your head? Those were the memories that had you thinking that evil is the only thing you’re capable of. They made you lose sight of the goodness _in_ you, even though it’s still there from the very beginning.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked to his, as if seeking some form of truth, or confirmation for his words from his eyes. Doubt. Her eyes were filled with doubt.

“ _Don’t_ , Nat. Whatever you’re thinking, _don’t_. Don’t go there. Please.”

“What?” she finally spoke.

“You’re doubting. Doubting my words. Doubting _yourself_. I know you are. You gotta fight it.”

Natasha shook her head.

“What’s the point, Steve? Convincing myself that there’s good in me when there’s a good chance that none actually exists?”

“Christ, Nat. You don’t really believe that. You _don’t_.” Steve shook his head disapprovingly.

“Steve…” she squeezed her eyes shut.

“God… you can’t possibly believe that.” Steve muttered under his breath as held his hands against his forehead in frustration.

Natasha bit her lower lip before releasing it, “Sometimes I really wonder why I was among those selected to join the academy, ya’ know?”

“What do you mean?” Steve narrowed his eyes.

“I _mean_ ,” Natasha sighed, “would they even have selected kids who were morally upright to join the Red Room in the first place?”

"I honestly don't think they cared, Nat."

"Well, it'd certainly make it easier for them, wouldn't it? Having people with questionable morality to join their ranks, people that'd carry out directives without ever asking questions..." 

The spy went quiet, leaving the soldier to ponder.

“But they still tried to brain-wash you, didn’t they? They tried to mess with your head.” Steve said moments later.

“Yeah…”

“Well, if you were really evil to begin with, Nat, why go through all that trouble to brain-wash you?”

Natasha’s posture tensed up ever so slightly, but at the same time, her jaw went completely slack, and her eyes widened.

“Like I said, I’ve read about the things they did to you girls at the academy. Peggy did a great job documenting everything they did back there. Advanced psychotechnics? Imprinting fabricated memories into your brains? Indoctrination through films? See, all that, _just_ to convince you girls that you were evil at heart. Seems to me like a lot of effort.” A humorous glint shone through Steve’s eyes when he nudged Natasha with his left shoulder, “And hey, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a shit load of paperwork too…”

That successfully drew a chuckle from the spy’s lips, which she immediately followed up with a coy smile.

“Look, obviously, they took all the brainwashing thing very seriously with you girls. But can’t you see? All of that was only necessary because they knew you weren’t evil to begin with. That was why they had to _turn_ you towards evil.”

“Fair point, Steve.”

“ _Now_ do you believe me?” Steve heaved an exaggerated sigh before grinning widely at his companion.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “God… Steve. I swear, only _you_ could turn my traumatic life into such a fairy tale.” Natasha said, the smile never leaving her face.

Grateful to see the doubt slowly leaving her eyes, Steve let out a relieved chuckle, “Hardly. Just stating the truth as it is. I mean, you’re the one who always say that I can’t lie worth a damn, so…”

“You really do see the good in everyone don’t you…” Natasha wondered aloud as her smile turned affectionate.

Steve quickly corrected her, “Well, not _everyone_.”

For a split second, Steve considered the disturbing notion of seeing the good in the Red Skull.

Steve's skin crawled at the thought.

He shook his head and continued, “No. _definitely_ not everyone. Only those who _are_ good. And that includes you, by the way. In case you’ve already forgotten everything I’ve said up until now, _again._ ”

Natasha chuckled, “No. I…uh… _this,_ I won’t ever forget. This is…this is another one of our conversations that I’d cherish to the day I die. Steve, your words… they’re... _precious._ Therapeutic, even.”

Just like that, Steve’s entire face beamed up in delight, and mischief shone through both his eyes.

“Thank you, dear customer, for choosing Steve Rogers’ counselling services. We hope that you’ve thoroughly enjoyed your star-spangled therapy session with us today. In the event of an emergency or should you require our immediate assistance, please be informed that we are reachable 24-7 at hotline oh-four-oh-seven. Until next time, bye. Beep.”

Natasha laughed and smacked him on the arm, “Dork.”

The humor left Steve the very next instant as his expression turned dead serious.

“One more thing, Nat.”

“Yeah?”

“Your life’s different now. I mean, that part of your life is _over._ You know that right?”

“I guess so.”

“Back then you were all alone. But now, you have a family. You have us.”

Well, _technically,_ the Avengers were torn apart… but meh. Details.

A teary smile quickly crept its way onto her countenance. Steve honestly had no idea what to make of it, but he knew that it ain’t stopping him from speaking his mind.

“It’s true, Nat. You have Clint, you have Laura and the kids, I’m sure they all practically see you as family anyway. Then there’s also Tony, Pepper, Maria, Nick, Sam, and…” Steve paused. _And Bruce._ Steve’s throat constricted at the thought of that name, the name of her Hulk in green armor.  

Steve cleared his throat, “There are people in your life now who genuinely care for you as a person, not as a tool. There are people who _love_ you.”

_I, love you._

Very tenderly, Steve moved to cup her face between his hands, “And you have _me,_ too _._ So whatever happens, Nat, I _promise_ you, you won’t be alone.”

He could feel her cheek muscles straining and twitching under his palm, hinting at the fact that his words must’ve, at the very least, moved her emotions.

“I was made to be alone, Steve.” She whispered, her breath tickling his jaw in the most pleasurable of ways. He fought down a torrent of shivers that threatened to swamp down his spine right then while his attention remained fixated upon her lips.

After what seemed like a lifetime, his gaze flicked to her eyes, where a sheen of moisture had begun pooling at their surfaces.

“Somebody with no real place in the world, no strings attached…” her eyes glazed over, “makes following orders that much easier…even killing.” she let out a bitter chuckle.

“You’ll always have a place with me.” Steve stated earnestly.

A faint smile adorned her beautiful face, “I appreciate it, Steve. But I…” she hesitated, “I can’t ask that of you. You shouldn’t have to be the one to deal with…” she exhaled shakily, “My baggage isn’t your responsibility-”

Steve’s eyes went ablaze with passion; beautiful twin blue flames. 

“Like _hell_ it isn’t…” Steve growled ardently, his hands that were palming her face tightened ever so slightly, causing the spy to flinch.

“Like it or not, Nat. I’m with you till the end of the line. _Deal with it_.” 

 

* * *

 

Admittedly, there was a fleeting moment when Steve had thought that he (and his big mouth) had screwed things over once again, because the moment he stopped talking, Natasha’s hands had flown atop his to pry his hands off her face. Horror, and panic, deluged his veins, percolating through the membranes of every single cell in his body. The worst part had been the fact that she had whirled her face away from him, sharply, and decisively, like as if she couldn’t bear looking at him, or rather, couldn’t bear being seen _by_ him.

And then, he heard something akin to a suppressed sob.

And a sniffle.

Yes. The Black Widow cried.

He, had made her cry.

Well. **_That_** thought alone was more than enough to get the ‘voice of chivalry’ in his head to pretty much go all brouhaha and hurly-burly against his skull.  But then again, when Natasha opened her mouth several seconds later, in a trying-but-failing-to-be-snarky voice, Steve just knew (somehow) that everything was going to be okay between them.

“This better not be some secret ploy of yours to turn me into a cry baby, or _else_ , Steve, I _swear to God,_ I’ll…” her voice cracked at the end.

Steve chuckled, mostly in relief, feeling every last drop of panic and horror flush out from his system. She was okay. They were okay.  

“Skin me alive. I know. Trust me, you’ve made that quite clear.” Steve quipped, inducing something between a sniffle and a chuckle (he really couldn’t tell) from the spy.

“And for the record, I think it’s easier to just say thank you, Nat.” Steve chided playfully.

Natasha released a tearful and breathy titter, but not before turning her face back to his. Despite the few sobs and sniffles that had caught his ears just moments ago, there weren’t any signs of tear streaks on her cheeks. Her eyes showed no signs of redness or puffiness either. A downright amazing feat altogether. Damn, even after being her partner for so long, he still hadn’t a goddamn clue how she does that. None. And as usual, he’d chalk it up to another one of her freakish spy superpowers which allowed her to retain her perfect appearance regardless of the circumstances.

Steve cleared his throat once.

“Gotta say though, it feels good to get those words off my chest. Been meaning to tell you those things for a long time now. Just never really had the chance. Never found the right time.” Steve mused.

“What makes now the right time?”

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged, “But I’m guessing it’s because our worlds had just fallen apart and… and... I just kinda figured that we both needed this, ya know?”

“Right, it’s usually during times of crises like these that we’d have this kind of talks isn’t it? Just like back at Sam’s apartment the last time.”

Steve hummed his agreement.

“This job…” Steve shook his head, “it lets us see the absolute worst that this world could offer. Sometimes, we need to be reminded that there’s still good left in this world. That there’re still people in the world that’re worth fighting for…”

His own words now reminded him of Adanna, the young girl who looked up to Natasha.

He’d get Adanna to meet her hero one day. He _would._ He swore he would. Maybe not today. But someday.

“Gives you hope doesn’t it? I mean, knowing that there’s still good left to protect? It’s like knowing that there’s still a point in what we do, in saving the world.” Natasha replied thoughtfully.

“Well…that’s what we have each other for, I suppose. Friends. Family. People in our lives that keep us grounded, that give us a reason to fight…” Steve paused and pointed his index finger on his left chest, just above his heart, “I believe that the greatest of strengths comes from within. And that strength, the strength of the heart? Most of the time, it originates from the people around us.”

The spy nodded, but said nothing in return. The shadows of her smile from before remained on her face, altogether creating an uncanny mixture of both sadness and joy in her expression. Though, gone were the remnants of self-doubt and of self-loathe that he had seen in her eyes just moments ago. Steve would gladly consider that as a win, the first success among the many more baby steps to come in his quest to change the way Natasha view herself.

Thinking that he had pushed enough of her buttons for one night, Steve began moving towards his discarded clothes on the bed, finally remembering that shower he had planned to take before he was drawn into this little heart-to-heart of theirs. Plus, he figured that after such a long and emotionally loaded day, a hot shower would certainly do him some good.

Snagging his clothes off the bed, Steve risked another glance at the spy. Her expression was neutral, and impassive, and she appeared not to have moved from where she stood while they conversed.

He wanted to ask if she was okay, but, well, he was also pretty sure that the lady had had enough of all his babbling and ramblings for one night. So, he held his tongue instead.

He continued watching her from his spot, his clothes dangling loosely from his hand.

It was during times like these that had him wondering just what was really going on inside that beautiful head of hers. And also what she was hiding behind all her masks and tough exterior shell. What was she thinking? Was she okay? Did she need anything? Was there anything at all that he could do to remove that _vacant_ thousand-yard-stare from her eyes right then? Yeah, there was that _look_ on her face again. That same, and awfully familiar, faraway look, that Steve only noticed in her eyes whenever she was staring at that super interesting wall back at the compound; the look she’d give whenever she was thinking about, and _missing_ (undoubtedly) a certain Doctor Prince Charming who would complete their little real world enactment of the Beauty and the Beast love story.

Was she thinking about Bruce Banner again?

Definitely maybe.

Did she miss Bruce?

Pfft. Right. Silly question.

Did she wish for Bruce Banner to be there in the room with her instead of Steve Rogers?

Pfft. Hah. If Bruce Banner was there with her instead of him, odds were that she’d be doing things with her mouth for the whole night that wouldn’t involve much talking. However you look at it, that definitely sounded a whole lot better than having to deal with a 100-year-old blabbermouth who (despite his age) still hadn’t a clue on how to hold a proper conversation with a beautiful dame.

Steve shook himself out of his painful and self-deprecating thoughts, his grip on his change of clothes tightened to the point of numbness.

 _Damnit, Rogers. Get a fucking grip, man._    

Steve took a breath, trying to keep his petty thoughts, _jealous_ thoughts, under wraps. The priority is containment, he’d once told the team during the Chitauri’s invasion; it was the team’s first mission together. If only he could now take his own goddamn advice and contain his own petty jealousy.

Eventually, for all his staring and hovering, Steve’s rational mind reached the conclusion that she probably just needed some space to work through her emotions. It wasn’t like he didn’t know just how Natasha Romanoff functioned. He had pushed her far too much for one night. It’d make sense that she needed a little space. Heck, the fact that she was still there, in his suite, was in itself a miracle. Honestly, when she had pried his hands off her cheeks moments ago, he had really thought that it was so that she could go bolting out the front door.

 _Yeah, she probably just needs her space…_ Steve thought as he began moving past her towards the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

It came as a surprise.

A pleasant surprise, when he felt her hand slip into his at the exact moment his body brushed past hers. The smooth and silky sensation of her palms were immediately felt, sending jolts of electricity hurtling up his limb and straight into his nervous system. He fucking quivered, shuddered uncontrollably at the sudden pleasure that her touch had kindled; a reaction, which he hoped to dear Deity that she hadn’t noticed.

Feeling powerless against her touch, Steve let himself be tugged and pulled, towards her, and around his back to finally land his eyes on her alluring face. Not that the pulling and tugging were necessary anyway. With her looking so beautiful like she did right then, it was a damn near certainty that his own body would’ve gravitated towards her on its own. 

It wasn’t until Steve felt her free hand slipping up towards the back of his head, and the firm downward pulling motion said hand had exerted on his head that he finally arrived at the realization that he was truly done for. Game over. He was a goner.

 _Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._ Those were his only thoughts as her hand guided his head lower, and lower, and lower, towards her face.

He remembered his eyes fluttering close on their own volition. 

The final piece of clear memory he had managed to salvage before it was all over was the sensation of her minty breath ghosting against his upper lips, right at the spot below the tip of his nose.

And…well, he had basically gone blank beyond that point.

Like literally blank. A gaping void in his super eidetic memory while his sensory faculties underwent a complete meltdown.

It wasn’t like he lost consciousness, or that he was hurled into another hallucination or whatnot. He knew that he was sober, and that he was very awake. It was just that… well, he just… _couldn’t believe_ that this all was happening, was all. Like as if his subconscious had deemed the experience as another fucking trance by default, and hence shutting down his senses temporarily to prevent him from feeling any of them.

The voiding sensation dragged on for God-knows-how-long until he felt her lips pressed up against his……

Cheek.

And then it was all over.

A chaste kiss to his cheek. That was all it was. Really.

He should feel the disappointment trickling in soon. Well, it would come, _eventually_ , if he wasn’t so goddamn aroused by her kiss to feel anything other than the overwhelming desire to rip off her clothes and run his tongue over every square-inch of her body.

His eyes blinked open as he slowly made his descent back onto great Mother Earth.

“Thank you, Steve. For all your words. They’re very sweet, and inspiring. They mean a lot to me… and I’d cherish them until the day I die.” Her words came out in breathy whispers, caressing his cheek.

When their eyes met, gratitude was what Steve saw in her eyes. Gratitude. Appreciation. Gratefulness. And God forbid, _indebtedness._

“I meant every word, partner.” Steve whispered through his near overwhelming arousal, thinking that one could be near deaf yet still be able to detect his heartbeat from 10 meters away.

 _Partners. That’s all we’ll ever be. Nothing more. Nothing less. Get that into your fucking skull, Steven Grant Rogers._ Steve chided himself.

 _Punk, you’re the wussiest wussy wuss I’ve seen in my entire life._ And, of course, Bucky would always be in some corner of his head, poking fun at him.

“It’s true, Nat. I meant what I said.”  

“I know.” Natasha breathed, running her hand along his cheek in a gentle caress, right at the same spot where her lips had occupied previously. _Sweet Jesus._

_Keep your hand there. Keep your hand there. Actually, no. Move closer. To my lips. No. Don’t pull away! Don’t-_

Her hand left his cheek.

Steve cleared his throat, “And you’re welcome, Nat. Hey, I might be terrible at the dames department, but at least I got this part right.”

Wow. He really deserved a good, solid pat on the back for being able to come up with somewhat of a quip, despite the fact that most of the blood in his brain had long migrated towards supersoldier junior. Hey, actually, forget about the stupid pat on the back. He’d rather receive a rewarding kiss from the woman he loved instead. Preferably right on the lips, and better yet, with _tongues_ involved. Damn straight. Who needs a pat on the back when you could get a steamy hot kiss from the very beautiful woman you’re in love with?

Natasha’s expression morphed into her trademark teasing smirk.

“Oh, Steve. I’d say you’d do just fine in the dames department.” said the spy while giving his body a salacious once over.

_Oh, criminy._

Well, it should’ve felt nice, what with the way she was looking at him right then, with all that sexual undertones behind her teasing words. Heck, by right, it should’ve shot him straight into cloud nine already, and have him all tangled up in euphoria…and joy…and pride…and a gazillion of other nice things. It should’ve been swell, it _would’ve_ been swell. It would’ve. _If_ he didn’t know better.

But the thing was, he _did_ know better.

And that was why instead of euphoria, he felt the familiar tightness returning to his chest; that same tightness which he would irrevocably feel whenever he saw her together with Bruce.

Oh, it _sucked._ Effing sucked.

It _sucked_ to _know better;_ to know that to her this was nothing but some harmless, and _meaningless_ flirting. It sucked to know that with him, she was only capable of meaningless flirting, whereas she would’ve gone so much further than that if it was with Bruce.

And it fucking sucked to feel so hurt yet so aroused at the same time.

 _Down boy. Down!_ He told his junior.

Remember what he said before about a supersoldier’s hard on? Yeah?

Looks like his _pickle_ (double entendre and pun intended) had returned.  

Crap.

Time to go.

_Go. Get away from there, Rogers. Move your ass._

Steve cleared his throat, “I’m… I’m gonna…” he gestured towards the bathroom with his thumb, “Take a shower…”

Surprisingly, the smirk vanished quickly from her face, and was replaced with an apologetic look.

“Shoot. They don’t have restricted hot water supply here, do they?”

“Don’t know. Why?”

“Because I’d used up quite a lot just now… hopefully there’s still some left for you, Steve.” she cringed at the end.

Good Lord.

Here he was, worrying about his _big_ and _thick_ ‘problem’, and she was concerned about, what? _H_ _ot water supply_? Really?

And about that hot shower? Yeah. He fucking changed his mind about that.

Steve snorted before he said, “Oh…trust me, Nat… I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem at all. I know I won't be needing any hot showers tonight.”

Relief overtook her face instantly, “Oh. Right. Good then. Not a big fan?”

Steve grunted. Yeah. With her getting him all hot and bothered for the entire fucking night, a hot shower would be the _last_ thing he needed.

“It ain’t that. Just not something I need _tonight._ ” Steve said cryptically as he began turning on his heels.  

“All thanks to a certain _someone_.” he muttered under his breath.

“What’s that?” asked the spy, causing him to pause mid-step.

“What’s what?” he feigned ignorance.

“You said something just now... I didn’t quite catch what you said.” she eyed him suspiciously.

_Phew. Really gotta watch what I say around superspies with their super thousandth senses._

“Did I? Huh. You know what? I don’t think I did. Guess you must’ve heard wrong, Nat.”

With that, Steve downright bolted towards the safety of the bathroom before she could unleash her sexy interrogation tactics on him. Hah. Like as if he was gonna fall for her tricks twice.

And besides, he really needed that shower.

That _very_ , _very_ cold shower. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. 
> 
> That's Chapter 20 for you. 
> 
> This chapter is about how Steve and Natasha patch each after up after the events of the Civil War. This chapter was full of heart to hearts. It was about Steve and Nat being there for each other. I don't know if you guys realized it, but at this point, Steve and Nat are basically a couple already, well, a couple sans the sexual relationship (we'll get to this part in the future, don't worry). That's right. They are just that close with each other.
> 
> What do you think of this chapter? Do you like the heart to hearts? Did I screw up? 
> 
> Please let me know in the comments below. Please. I mean, if not to point out my mistakes, at least comment to let me know that I hadn't screwed up. It'd really calm my nerves. 
> 
> I thank you. 
> 
> Isaiah.


	21. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! 
> 
> First of all. Happy Birthday Claudia (WinterXAssassin)! I can't physically give you any gifts, but I figured I could do it through a chapter. 
> 
> And hello dear readers! Thanks for reading, and for following this story so far. If you like this, please remember to click the subscribe button.
> 
> I hope y'all will enjoy this chapter.

_“Sleep is the best meditation.” – Dalai Lama._

 

* * *

 

For the n- _millionth_ time of the night, Steve Rogers found himself wondering if a man could one day just… drop _dead…_ due to an acute overload of unfulfilled sexual arousal, and a severe case of blue balls.  

He really wondered.

Because Holy **_SMOKES_** , just what in God’s name was she doing, kneeling down beside the bed with her… barely-covered… _derriere_ , pointed straight at him like that?

Good Christ on a bike.

 _One_ glance at **_that_** _._

**One.**

One quick, delicious glance _,_ and Steve was undoubtedly at full-mast already, with supersoldier junior all stiff and raring to go. And to think that he had just only taken an icy, bone-chilling, cold shower, like, 3 minutes ago...

Oh fucking blistering criminy.

What did he _ever_ do to deserve such blatant torture? How many times was it again, that he’d saved the world from its doom? Twice? No. It was thrice, okay? _Thrice._ He'd saved the world _thrice._ So wasn’t it about damn time they brought out the scissors and, ya know, cut him some actual slack? _Jesus._

And Good Lord, could there even be an ass in this entire friggin’ universe which came remotely close to the level of perfection attained by the one that was being paraded oh-so-ostentatiously in front of him right then? Could there? Could another such derriere even exist?

Pfft!!

You know what? Scratch that.  

As if that was even a question to begin with!!! How dare _he_? How dare he **_question_** the exclusiveness of Natasha Romanoff’s fine derriere? How dare he even **_doubt_** the singularity of Natasha Romanoff’s **_ASS_** ets?

How dare he?

Didn’t he know better? Didn’t he know, that Natasha Romanoff possessed, hands down, the sexiest caboose this world had ever seen? Hadn’t there been enough times he’d seen her in her catsuit which nothing but accentuated her ass?

Could another ass of such caliber exist? Pfft, who was he even kidding?

 ** _Hell no,_** people. Hell fucking no.

Natasha Romanoff’s ass was in **_a class of its own_**.

Got that down yet?

A class of its own. Sui generis.

There could _not_ be another. There could _never_ be another. Hers was the best of the best. Crème de la crème. 

Bar none.  

And the proof of those statements was  ** _dangling_**  right in front of him, a good 20 feet away.

So curvy. So full, and round, as if she had two bowling balls attached to her hips or something. Bowling balls. What a superbly apt description, considering how nicely those hemispherical twin mounds of flesh would curve into his hands if he were to cup them from behind. Ahem. Not that he’d know for sure though, since he’d never actually tried putting his hands on her ass before. Hey, in fact, most of the time he was actually attempting the exact opposite – trying his damnest **_not to_** put his hands on her ass.

There was a quick, and sudden shift in her form.

Still on her knees and with her back (and ass) facing him, she was now backing away slowly from the edge of the bed. And. God. Save. His. Soul. Because after that little shift, she was now positioned even closer to where he stood, granting him a much better vantage point of her ‘ ** _ASS_** ets’. Well, in essence, the whole effect was quite visually similar to what one would experience when switching over from a 720p display to 1080p full HD display. Everything would just become clearer, with every viewing experience sharpened and heightened.

Steve ran his tongue over his suddenly very parched lips.

As she moved about the floor, Steve saw her knees parting even wider than before. And heck, for a few pathetic seconds, he actually envied that stupid patch of Saxony which lay underneath her thighs.

If only the carpet had eyes. If only.

He felt a groan pushing against his voice box. He felt his throat muscles quivering on their own accord. He felt himself being at the verge of letting loose a deep and animalistic moan.

By some miracle, he managed to stifle it.

While the rest of his mind underwent a complete meltdown, the remaining vestiges of his brain’s logical processing abilities apprised him that perhaps she was trying to lower her center of gravity for some reason. Unconsciously, Steve shifted a little in his spot and squinted at her form, seeking to match her line of sight with his own. He quickly observed how her head was lowered with her cheek hovering just 2 inches above the carpet. Almost as if she was attempting to peer at something under the bed.

_Maybe she’s looking for something that had fallen under the bed?_

And then she moved again. This time, moving herself over to another edge of the bed, the adjacent one, and then she repeated the whole darn ritual. She knelt down, and shifted about, knees spread and head lowered.

Much to Steve’s delight and agony, all those movements she’d made caused the waistband of her yoga pants to move also: by sliding further and further down the slope of her waist. Lower and lower and lower, millimeters by millimeters.

Steve’s throat constricted at the same time his breath hitched.

 _That’s it, keep going… keep go-_  

Uggghhhh!

For fuck’s sake!

Why was she doing this to him?!

Yes! He knew he loved her and that he would do anything for her and all. But still, why was she doing this to him?

Why?!

Why, oh, why?!

Just what the fuck was _wrong_ with her tonight?

Was she always such a tease?

Okay, fine, he might have already known about the teasing and flirting being her long time shtick and all that, but tonight? Tonight, she wasn't merely a tease. Tonight, she was a goddamn _temptress._

Come on, seriously?!

Hadn’t she had enough for one night?

Hadn’t an _entire_ night of teasing and torturing, all at _his_ expense, been enough for her?

What? Did she suddenly find herself being discontented with busting just his _balls_ , and was therefore planning to have his **_dick_** bursting into flames too? Was that the idea? To ruin not just the balls, but the whole dangling _package_?

Or was this some kind of test? A silly test to ascertain just how _durable_ a supersoldier’s nether regions were? Hah! Was that it? Some kind of durability experiment, with her donning the lab coat, him being the lab rat, and his junior being the ‘lab cock’? Was that it? Well, if _that_ was really the case, then he could certainly think of much, much, _much_ better ways to test _his_ durability; ways which would involve so much more **skin on skin** _friction_ and… _rubbing_ …and _slapping_ and _thrusting_.

_Or maybe there aren’t any ulterior motives at all, you asshole._

Ahem. Okay, now, _that,_ was his voice of chivalry speaking. Which, admittedly, held a pretty sensible point. Because, if she really _was_ trying to tease him to death, then why bother putting on any clothes at all? Surely, the best way to overload his arousal to the point of death, would be to pose herself right in front of him without a single stitch. I mean, come on, that’s basically like holding up a massive sign board with Steve Rogers' pathetic mugshot on it and then shoving it right in the face of the Grim Reaper. Death by arousal. Hah. The Grim Reaper would have a field day.

From his spot at the bathroom doorway with his arms crossed at chest level and his body leaning against the doorjamb, a half-mesmerized, tight-crotched Steve Rogers watched intently as the spy did her _thing_ (whatever it was that she was doing) on the floor. She was still in her kneeling posture on the floor, right beside the King-sized bed, with her hands moving about, doing…. _something_.

Pfft, as if he’d know, since it was really her ass that he’d been so damn engrossed in.

Ugh.

 _Damn_ that flimsy yoga pants which had been driving him nuts ever since she’d slipped that ultra-sexy black bathrobe (which had driven him just as nuts) off her body.

Damn them super sexy redheads who had virtually zero compunctions about being such a sadistic tease, consciously or unconsciously.

And damn the whole  _textile industry_ for even allowing such pathetic excuses for garments (like the one currently covering the gorgeous derriere of a certain sadistic redheaded little shit) to be sold on the market. _Christ._ Seriously, another quarter inch lower of that dip at the waistband and he’d be granted the full view of her butt cra-

Great.

Now he had officially lost his mind to the dirtiest of gutters. And if he didn’t do something smart soon, he was probably gonna lose his _dick_ too, in a fiery explosion.

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

What sweet, sweet torture this was. Right now, he could only _wish_ that he was an actual masochist. That way, he'd at least be able to _get off_ at some point rather than having to endure this overwhelming and downright torturous wave of sexual frustration.

Yeah.

For the nth-millionth time of the night, Steve Rogers wondered if his eyes were truly the bluest part of his body after all.

Because right then, his balls were pretty darn blue too.

 

* * *

 

_Okay, Rogers. Deep breaths, boy. Deep breaths. Imagine something green. The Hulk’s ass, for instance._

Steve forced a breath into his lungs, though unfortunately, his gaze still remained fixated upon you-know-what. Well, truth was, he hadn’t the strength to look away just yet. He might still need a little bit more time for that.

Oh yeah, that would surely take some time, wouldn’t it, finding the strength to look away?

Pfft. Maybe another 7 decades?

Steve briefly considered scurrying back into the bathroom for yet another cold shower, but immediately realized the sheer absurdity of that idea. Mainly because if that was the plan, then he might as well be spending the whole night in the bathroom’s shower stall, sleeping buck naked with his body positioned right under the icy cold water.

Somehow, amidst his ass-staring trance, the logical processing part of Steve’s brain was rekindled when his ears picked up a hoarse shuffling sound.

That sound, he soon realized, was a byproduct of kneecaps being rubbed against the brown Saxony.

She was shifting herself again.

It then occurred to him that, logically, there had to be a compelling reason for her to be down on the ground like that. And even more so, considering the severe contusions he’d seen spread all over her back just moments ago. Surely, with that kind of injury, bending over on the ground like that must’ve brought her no less amount of pain and discomfort.

Yet she was doing it.

 _Just what on earth **IS** she doing anyway? _ Steve wondered to himself. And, for the very first time since he yanked open the bathroom door, Steve managed to (finally) tear his eyes away from her _very_ delectable caboose, focusing instead on what the spy was actually doing on the floor.

His gaze drifted to her hands. Yeah, and about damn time too.

Indeed, true to his initial guess, she _was_ trying to look for something under the bed, because right then, he saw her hands disappearing into the darkness beneath the King-sized bed. And not only that, she was also sliding her arm back and forth, as if she was trying to sweep across the entire expanse of the space under the bed.

_Definitely looking for something. But what?_

“Looking for something?” Steve asked from his spot, half-expecting some sort of quip or barb from the sassy spy.

But strangely, none came.

“Nat?” he tried again, much louder this time.

Still silent.

Steve’s brows creased. That made no sense at all. Natasha would usually be the first person to notice ~~anybody’s~~ anything’s presence in a room. And he was pretty sure that he’d been ~~watching~~ ogling her from his spot for at least 3 minutes already.

 _Well, that can’t be right…_  

So either she was purposely ignoring him, or… as unlikely as it sounded, she couldn’t hear him.

Increasingly curious as to what the spy was looking for under the bed, Steve found himself pushing off the doorjamb and began sauntering towards her. He had deliberately made some loud shuffling noises with his feet as he walked, but the spy didn’t even react to any of the noises he made, which further confirmed his suspicions about the fact that she couldn’t hear him.  

The mystery was resolved the moment Natasha was within Steve’s arm’s reach.

She still had her back and her bootylicious booty facing him, but then Steve also noticed a pair of slim, red, Bluetooth earphones fixed against her ear.

_So that’s why she couldn’t hear me._

Instinctively, Steve reached out and placed his uninjured hand on her shoulder.

Big mistake.

It all happened so fast. So darn fast, that if not for the enhanced reaction time the supersoldier serum had granted him, he’d be knocked out before he could even register what hit him.   

Well, as it turned out, instead of jerking, or flinching, or spasming, or whatever the hell it is that normal people do when startled, a startled Black Widow would have people trapped in lethal, bone-crushing, tendon-snapping wrist locks. Guess he had temporary forgotten just how lethal of a hand-to-hand combatant Natasha truly was. Pfft. And he’d happily blame that little slip of mind on her little ‘ass-tease’ back there.

He barely had time to let out a hiss before he saw the rest of her attacks coming at him. It all felt so damn fast, even with his enhanced reaction time. He saw the elbow first, and then the knee, but he had long since forgone any moves to defend himself, figuring that he’d just absorb all the hits and be done with it. After all, he really didn’t want to cause any more harm onto her already injured body. And, admittedly, a small albeit slightly perverted part of him secretly wished that she’d soon have her thighs wrapped around his neck.

Steve closed his eyes and awaited the blows.

Blows which never came.

Instead, he felt the pressure applied on his wrist diminishing rapidly, as if she had suddenly lost all her strength.   

Then he heard her moan.

“Ahh!”

Her hold on his wrist was released completely.

THUD!

Steve’s eyes flew opened.

And something bled out of his eyes.

Horror.

Cerulean horror.

 

* * *

 

Natasha Romanoff collapsed.

Steve Rogers’ heart stopped.

She lay on her side, one hand clutching her spine while the other dug dangerously into the flesh of her exposed stomach.

“NAT!!”

Steve clambered towards her, and was kneeling beside her in an instant.

She was still conscious, he realized, much to his relief, when he was reaching forward to remove the earphones from her ears.

A whimper escape her lips, and her eyes squeezed themselves shut.

“Talk to me, Nat. Talk to me.”  

“Hu…hurts…”

“Where?”

She answered with a pained moan.

Steve gave her body a quick once-over.

Her breathing was shallow, and erratic. And God, at one point he wondered if she was even breathing at all.

He reached for the hand that was clutching her stomach. It was cold. And tight.

He then tried to gently shift her body into a more comfortable position. But was met with much resistance. Because her whole upper body was stiff as fuck. Her entire core was taut, rigid, and inhumanly tensed.

At that point, Steve realized that the tension in her body must have been intensifying the pain she was feeling.

_Gotta get ease the tension in her body._

_Gotta get her to relax._

“Mmmph…Ss…Ste…” She managed a few muddled words in between hisses.

“Easy, Nat. Easy… Breathe, okay? Just breathe.” Steve soothed.

“Ahh…….Steve…” she groaned and gasped.

The hand left her stomach, and went to claw at the front of Steve’s shirt instead.

“Ahh…” she moaned again.

“Easy… easy… come on, breathe, Nat. Breathe…”

“Ca… can’t! Hu… hurts… to…to… bre…breathe…..” she gritted out.

_Shit. Something’s wrong._

Spinal injury? Collapsed lung? Internal bruising?

It wasn’t even that bad before. Why now all of a sudden?

Then it hit him.

The fall.

She must’ve hurt something when she collapsed to the floor just now.

Steve eyed the night stand, where the PBX sat.

He noticed the digital clock too. 2.47AM.

He wondered if he should call the health institute.

He should call. But then again, she’d definitely throw a fit if he did…

The spy’s hand shot up and cupped his jaw, yanking his face back down towards the ground, towards her.

“Don’t you even think about it!”

He ignored her and tried to stand up.

But her hand moved to catch the fabric of his pants like a vice.

Great. Now he couldn’t stand up another inch even if he wanted to. Unless he wanted to give his _junior_ the opportunity to come out and say hello.

“Please…” She pleaded.

Ugh. Jesus Christ. Of all women he could’ve fallen in love with, he just _had_ to fall for the one that was about as stubborn as ten mules.

He sighed and sat back down.

“I’m fine Steve…I swear…I just…I-”

She let out another gasp, followed by a long hiss.

 _Fine your ass, Romanoff._ Although, she **did** have a _fine ass._

“I’m fine…I’m okay…” She gritted.

_Christ, Nat. At least say that when you can actually breathe properly._

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Don’t… don’t call now. I’ll go tomorrow. I promise… just not…not now…please…” She rasped.

Steve’s eyes softened.

His un-bandaged hand slunk into the curtain of her thick scarlet tresses.

Seconds later, his hand began its loving ministrations, in long, slow and gentle strokes along the red strands.

She tried to say something again, but this time, Steve stopped her before she could get the words out.

“Shh…Nat. Don’t talk. You have to breathe properly. Trust me, okay? Focus on deep breathing. Come on, follow my voice… Breathe in slowly until we reach a count of 4, okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay, go. One… two…three… four… good. Hold that breath for a count of two. One… two… That’s right, Nat. Good job. Now slowly breathe out until a count of six. Ready?” Steve instructed.

The spy nodded painfully.

“Okay, go. Breathe out. One… two… three… four… five… six… Alright, that’s great, Nat. You’re doing great.” Steve whispered into her hair.

“You good?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She whispered.

“Now repeat the whole thing. But this time try to relax your whole body… don’t tighten your core, it’ll only make the pain worse. Just try loosening your core, okay? Relax those core muscles…”

Natasha did the breathing routine again while Steve’s hands rubbed soothing patterns over her arms and legs to get her to relax.

“Nat, you’re not relaxing… you gotta ease your hands…” Steve said as he pried her hand that was still clutching at her spine, “Come on now… ease your hands. Let em’ go.” Steve very gently uncurled her fingers from the tight fists they had formed.

“That’s right, Nat… Relax…” Steve said, slowly coaxing the spy to unfurl both of her fists.

She lay still, with Steve’s broad frame huddled over her, and his hands continued their soothing ministrations.

And in such a manner they stayed, until the spy was finally breathing normally again, until she no longer felt the need to gasp in pain, until he was sure that every muscle in her body had relaxed.

And until the soldier’s own heart was finally able to start beating again.

 

* * *

 

“Better now?” Steve prodded about a minute later.

“A little…” she replied, her tone less pain-laden.

But from the way her face was scrunched up, Steve could tell that the pain was still present.

He sneaked another glance at the night stand. 2.50AM.

When his gaze fell back to her, he noticed the spy staring at him with a light shake of her head, silently pleading him not to pick up the phone.

He cupped her cheek.

“Tell me where it hurts, Nat.”

“Somewhere mid spine…” she mumbled.

Steve pressed lightly on her back, “Here?”

“A little to your left… and a little bit upwards.”

Steve continued poking his fingers on her spine as per her instructions, until…

“Ahh!!” She moaned before letting out a sharp hiss.

Yep. He found it.

His thick fingers slid the fabric of her tank top upwards, revealing all the bruises scattered on her back. They still looked pretty much the same compared to the time when he had checked them out at the bathroom. But he figured there must be something else which was causing her all the additional pain. His best guess was still the extra trauma imparted when she collapsed onto the floor just now.

Steve’s eyes scanned through her back again, scrutinizing all the contusions dispersed all over her spine. His fingers traced gently against the bluish outlines on her skin, taking special care to apply only minimal pressure to wherever his touch landed.

God, this was bad. He’d honestly never seen her hurt so badly before, not even after the Winter Soldier’s ambush on that highway.

Steve felt something tug at his chest, and he struggled against the lump forming in his throat.

She was hurt. Natasha was hurt. The woman he loved was hurt. And all because he’d completely mishandled the whole thing with the stupid Accords.

He suddenly remembered Natasha’s request earlier, when she begged him to give himself a break.

_Please… just… give yourself break, okay? Put everything aside, and just… rest. And that means stop blaming yourself for whatever that happened, stop thinking about what you could’ve have done better, and stop thinking about the what-ifs. Can you do that for me, Steve? At least for tonight?_

Steve exhaled tiredly. 

Compartmentalization was never easy. Not when feelings were involved. And certainly not when things concerned _her._

“Jesus… Nat.” Steve murmured, his fingers caressing a patch of blue near her right rib.

“That bad?” she asked breathily. 

“I think the bruises have spread a bit more towards the ribs. They were quite centered about the spine when I checked earlier before. But now they seem to have spread out.” Steve observed.

The spy remained still and silent.

“But at least I don’t see any bumps around your spine… guess we won’t have to worry about swelling or anything.” Steve muttered and moved to pull her tank top back down over her skin. He had to, because he couldn’t bear the sight of her injuries anymore, not when every single one of them reminded of his failures as team Captain.

“Oh, good. ‘Cause the last thing a dame needs is to be asked to star as Quasimodo in the next Hunchback of Notre Dame featurette.” she quipped in a raspy voice, coaxing a grin straight out of Steve’s worried features. And not to mention leaving him in a state of utter perplexity as to how she was even able to maintain that sharp wit of hers _whilst_ under such severe pain.

Good Christ. How did she even-

Pfft. Guess even when severely injured, Natasha was still, well, _Natasha._ Forever with that sharp wit.

Letting a chuckle expel from his lips, he said, “You’re really something, Romanoff.”

And immediately, Steve returned all his attention back onto Natasha’s well-being. As fun and amusing as her quips were to hear, the woman he loved was _lying on the ground_ , _HURT_. So yeah, forgive him if he said that he ain’t got time for joking around.        

“You must’ve landed on your spine when you fell to the floor just now. The pain you’re feelin’ now is probably due to the shock of the impact.” Steve conjectured.

“Mmm.” Natasha hummed her agreement.

“But I’m not sure why the bruises spread though…” Steve mulled.

“Could be the hot shower, promotes blood circulation and all that. Or maybe the bruises just hadn’t fully formed until now?” the spy offered her insights.

“Sure you don’t want me to call someone?” Steve attempted one last time.

Natasha head shook, “No. I just…I… to be honest, I’m just… not in the mood to deal with anything right now. Just…” She let a sigh escape, “not tonight, Steve.”

Steve sighed.

Truth was, he understood her sentiments completely. After what they’d been through, with everything still feeling so raw in their minds, somehow they were just…too goddamn tired with everything to give a damn.

So he let the subject drop for now, but not before reminding himself to make sure she gets proper treatment tomorrow afternoon.

Steve picked up the Bluetooth earphones from the floor before placing them on top of the bed.

And then he was kneeling by her side once again, “Alright, Nat, hold still. I’m gonna lay you down on the bed, okay?”

“If I didn’t know any better… I’d say you’re trying to get into my pants, Rogers.” she teased, which _literally_ had Steve choking on his own saliva.

_Back to teasing now, are we, Nat?_

And, pfft. Yeah. He’d try getting into her pants all right, if she would indeed put on some _actual pants,_ instead of that flimsy and sexy… _thing_ she had on.

Steve quickly recovered his composure, and _tried_ to say something reprimanding. But that sexy and downright endearing smirk adorning her face pretty much rendered all his efforts vain. 

He rolled his eyes instead.

“Christ, Nat. You’re _hurt_ , and not to mention _moaning_ on the floor just seconds ago. So could you at least wait until you’re _off the floor,_ and _on the bed_ , before you start throwing the sass?”

Well, at least Steve still managed to pull off a glare (somewhat) at her. Though he remained highly dubious regarding the glare’s actual effectiveness; considering the fact that his face right then bore much resemblance to a big, fat, red tomato.

He saw the corner of her smirk lifted up daringly. Challengingly. Teasingly. _Sexily._  

Ignoring her smirk, Steve slid his arms under her knee caps.

Her hands shot up quickly in an attempt to push his limbs away.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve. I think I can stand.”

“Nat. No!” Steve protested against her pushing hands.  

Giving up on pushing his arms away, the spy began shifting her position on the floor.

“Look, I can stand… if you would just…” she paused and tucked her legs away from his outreached arms before he could lift her up.

She moved skillfully into a kneeling position, but only to find her thighs being held in place by Steve’s strong arms.

“Steve… let go. I’m fine. I’m alright now.” she tried struggling her way out of his grasp to no avail.

“Nat. Stop!” Steve ordered sternly, causing the spy to ease back against his body with her head tucked under his chin.

Steve had to take a deep, steadying breath as he struggled to contain the ripples of pleasure that were induced by the scent of her hair. And not to mention the top of her bun that was brushing lightly against the underside of his jaw, stirring up sensations that bordered between being ticklish and utterly pleasurable.

Not. Helping. At. All.    

Steve exhaled loudly.

“ _Jesus_. Nat. Will you **_please_** … just… let me _baby_ you for now? Is that really so hard?” Steve pleaded in a tone of pure exasperation.

She lifted her head and their eyes met. Him staring down, her staring up.

After a substantial amount of gawking and glowering, the spy relented with a huff, “Ugh… _fine._ ”

Steve sighed gratefully and said, “Thank _You.”_ all the while tilting his head towards the ceiling to make a show of thanking the Heavens for the rather _miraculous_ downsizing of the spy’s mule-worthy stubbornness. Though if you asked him, he’d say that it had more to do with that special pleading look he’d thrown her rather than some miraculous divine intervention. It was that same look he would always throw her whenever he wanted something from her, a look that he knew she couldn’t resist. 

Natasha shook her head and rolled her eyes before scoffing, “You and your puppy-dog eyes, Steve. I _swear_.”

Steve smirked, “I don’t know _what_ you’re on about…”

She snorted, “You downright _suck_ at lying, Rogers. So you might as well just stop.”

The smirk on his face widened ever so slightly.

“Put your arms around my neck.” Steve ordered.

She did as she was told.

“You said it hurts when you bend at the spine, right?” Steve asked.

“Yeah…”

“Okay, that means I gotta find a way to keep your back as straight as possible while I move you to the bed…” Steve spoke, more to himself than to her.

For several seconds, Steve remained still, thinking of the best way to carry her to the bed without hurting her further. Well, he certainly couldn’t carry her bridal style, because that would probably cause a bend at the spine. A piggy back seemed like too much of a hassle…

Another few seconds later, Steve finally made up his mind.

“Can you spread your legs?” Steve blurted out.

Ahem. Rather thoughtlessly, in hindsight.

Okay. **_Very_** thoughtlessly.

Pfft. More like, **_completely_** thoughtlessly.

_Way to go, Steve._

God, he was such a complete moron.

But to be fair, maybe it was a Freudian slip, a glimpse into all the things that he had always wanted Natasha to do for him. Pfft. Yeah. Spreading her legs for him was but one of a whole freakin’ list of those things.

Steve stole a subtle glance at her, hoping that perhaps she’d missed that little faux pas of his.

But the sight of her quirked lips and her raised brows put an instant end to that silly hope.

Steve groaned, “ _Don’t_. Don’t say it. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t say it.”

The spy chuckled breathily and _slowly_ parted her thighs as she was told to, “Done. Shall I take off my pants too?” She teased saucily.

God, _yes._

Wait, what? No. _NO!_

Ugh. Fucking tease of a minx.

Steve sighed and warned, “ _Natasha_ …”

Natasha retorted faux innocently, “What? With such ill-phrased requests, you could hardly expect a girl to not get the wrong idea…”

“Yeah, well you clearly knew enough to recognize it to be the _wrong_ idea.” Steve grumbled.  

The spy only smirked.

The soldier blushed.

“Well? My legs are spread, soldier. So you gonna do something about it or what?”

The soldier’s blush deepened.

Or his blush _blushed._ Whatever.

“Wrap them around my waist. Cling on to me, but keep your back straight. Kinda like a…” Steve paused slightly, trying his damnest to think of a good illustration – one that didn't involve Natasha Romanoff’s naked thighs wrapped delectably around his equally naked waist.

“You mean like a koala hugging a tree.” Natasha deadpanned.

And… just like that, all the inappropriate images in his head shattered.    

Steve guffawed. God. This woman was really _something_ else wasn’t she?

So incredibly sexy, and yet so damned comical at the same time.

A new kind of sexy.

The _best_ kind of sexy.

The  _Natasha_ brand of sexiness.

“That’s hilarious, Nat… but yeah, that’s the general idea.” Steve said as he shifted closer to the spy.

 

* * *

 

“You ready?” Steve asked when he was sure that Natasha’s arms were secured around his neck.

The spy smiled up at him.

“Do your worse.” she said.

“On three?” Steve cued.

She nodded.

“One. Two. Three.”

Steve lifted her body up from the ground with ease, her legs closing around his thighs at the same time.

They both grunted the moment Natasha’s head came in contact with Steve’s massive pectorals in a dull thud. In the next second, Steve had stood up to his full height and, although a bit low, her body was settled quite stably against his own; her arms around his neck, the crown of her head leveled with his collarbones, her legs wrapped securely around his thighs, and finally, her crotch against his dic-

_Uh-oh._

Shit. Shit. Shit.

**Shite.**

Steve immediately realized his mistake. In fear of hurting her, he had used too little strength when he hoisted her up from the ground. And as a result, her body was settled too low against his torso. _Way_ too low. Not too low per se. Just lower than he’d originally intended.

And from her muffled gasp against his chest, Steve just _knew,_ that she felt it too. Felt their sexes converge through the thin barrier of their clothing.

His length against her heat.

Her Ying against his Yang.

Holy shit. He really gotta to do something. And fast. Because stall any second longer, and his _pickle_ would’ve begun rising to _full attention._ And _that,_ could not, in any way, be good. Unless he had the privilege to rip off her clothes and run his tongue all over her body, which he clearly _didn’t_.

“Nat, I’m gonna lift you higher…” He blurted out hastily.

And at the exact moment the spy opened her mouth to respond, Steve’s hands pushed sharply against the muscular flesh at the back of her thighs.

And up, up she went.  

“Okay…just…Mmmph!”

Those were the only words that left Natasha’s mouth before she was thoroughly cut off.

Cut off, by the feel of Steve’s lips against hers.

 

* * *

 

Steve **_could not,_** for the life of him, believe what just happened.

He could not.

He could not fucking believe it.

One moment his hands were lifting her up higher. Then the next moment, he was staring right into her beautiful, enlarged, green eyes. And with their lips touching.

Their lips. _Touching._

Their lips were actually touching. As in _flesh on flesh_ touching.

They kissed. Accidentally.

Though, by strict technicality, they weren’t _actually_ kissing. Their lips weren’t moving or sliding against each other. Just locked, and statically touching. That was all. And then, of course, there were no tongues involved either.

This was merely accidental. Coincidental. Fortuitous. Unintended. And unplanned.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

But then why wasn’t either of them pulling away from the contact? Not that he wanted to pull away. Because he’d most certainly be doing so much more than just having their lips touching if _he_ had any damn choice in the matter. But what about her? Why wasn’t she flinching away by now?

_Don’t read too much into it, Rogers._

She was probably just taken by surprise.

All the physical cues were there.

Her wide-eyed expression, and the fact that she was holding her breath.

Yeah. She was probably just surprised.

Well…that was what he thought, until the first scintilla of hope trickled in at the precise moment he felt her palms slide up from his neck to settle on his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Natasha Romanoff **_could not,_** for the life of her, believe what just happened.

She could not.

She could not fucking believe it.

She couldn’t believe any of it.

First was when their bodies touched in a way that _screamed_ physical intimacy; when she felt his length pressed up deliciously against her opening through the combined materials of their clothing; when that uncontrollable, sultry and wanton gasp hurtled out from the confines of her lips straight into the fabric of his shirt; when she felt all the pain and ache in her spine slip away into oblivion to be replaced by a sensation of utter euphoria.

None of all that seemed real.

And now?

Now, their lips were _touching._

Both of their lips, pressed up snugly against the other, with the both of them too shocked to even breathe.

She wondered if he was revisiting old memories. Wondered if he, too, was thinking about that time, back in that mall on the escalator.

That escalator kiss.

Their first kiss.

His first taste of her.

Her first taste of him.

It had been slightly awkward and unnatural back then. But God. She liked it. She liked it so damn much that she’d even _dreamt_ about it, countless of times. It had been a brief kiss, too brief to be deemed a make-out session, yet she loved every brief second of it. She loved it. Even though it was merely a decoy. Even though it was nothing more than a red herring. Even though he’d never really kissed her back. All that, and she still loved it. She loved every sweet nanosecond of it. It was the best damn kiss of her life. Even better than the kiss she shared with Bruce about a year ago.

And now, this was their second kiss.

Yet neither of them had moved an inch from their _compromised_ position.

She had no idea what was going through Steve’s mind right then.

Hell, she wasn’t even sure of her own thoughts at that moment either.

But she did know one thing:

She wanted him.

She’d wanted him back when they were on that escalator.

She’d wanted him back when they were kicking ass onboard the Lemurian Star.

She’d wanted him back at Sam’s apartment.

She’d wanted him back at the front seat of that stupid pickup truck he had ‘borrowed’ but never returned.

She’d wanted him all those times ago.

And she wanted him _now,_ while her legs were wrapped snugly around his waist, while his big hands and thick digits were pressed firmly into the flesh of her thighs.  

She wanted him.

Which was why she’d allowed her palms to travel up the column of his neck, past his ears, and finally, onto his sculpted cheeks.

She wanted him.

Which was why her thumbs began caressing the sharp planes of his cheek bones in slow circular strokes.

She wanted him.

So much so that she felt her resolves breaking.

So much so that she felt her walls crumbling down.

 _She_ was breaking.

And the weirdest thing was that **_she wanted to break._**

She wanted herself to break; to break, and fall into Steve Rogers’ arms.

She wanted herself to break, despite being told for years by Madame B. that she wasn’t _allowed_ to break, and that she was unbreakable.

She was made of marble, Madame B. had once told her.

_“…You are made of marble. We’ll celebrate after the graduation ceremony.”_

The graduation ceremony.

Those three words rang in her ears, and ricocheted in her head, again and again and again, _quenching_ the pool of heat that had been building up exponentially between her legs ever since her legs wrapped around his torso.

And as the heat doused into a lukewarm, she was left with nothing, nothing but the echos of those three words.

_The graduation ceremony..._

_The graduation ceremony..._  

God. How could she ever forget? 

The graduation ceremony.

A day in which a monster was born.

The first page of her red ledger.

But more than anything, the graduation ceremony was a reminder.

A reminder of one sad truth.

The sad truth, that she couldn’t have him.

The sad truth, that she could never give him what he deserved.

The sad truth, that she would never be able to bear his child.

The sad truth, that she would never be able to give him a home, a family.

The sad truth, that she wasn’t right for him.

_He’s not for you, Natalia._

_You’re not good for him._

_You can **never** be good for him._

_You will hurt him._

_You will destroy him._

_You will ruin him._

_He deserves better._

_Better than you._

Shattered.

Everything shattered.

The want. The desire. The attraction. The need to press her tongue into his mouth. The need to kiss him senseless. They all shattered.

Everything shattered. Shattered. Pulverized into the finest of dusts.

Guilt trickled in, in torrents.

She often wondered about the color of guilt, about the type of hue or shade that guilt would take after.

And tonight, she found her answer.

And it was red. Blood red.

Blood red guilt, staining her hands, staining her fingers. Staining everything.

Everything turned red. Even the blue of his eyes.

_Run, Natalia._

_Run._

 

* * *

 

Steve felt the slight pressure her thumbs exerted on his cheekbones, and a sudden shift in temperature on his lips.

That was when he knew that it was all over.

There was a sound of her clearing her throat, and a hasty apology being thrown out.

“Sorry…” She said.

She wouldn’t even look at him.

“Natasha…” He whispered.

“Bed. Steve. Bed. I need to lie down.”

His legs moved.

 

* * *

 

“Jesus, Natasha! How many of these pills did you take?” Steve half-shouted as he took the glass of water from her hand.

“Ten.” She answered back with so much nonchalance that it actually scared Steve.

He set the glass back onto the night stand before he either broke it by (A) dropping it or (B) crushing it with his grip.

He stared at her in horror.

“Ten…” He repeated.

“Yeah.”

“But it says here a maximum of five daily.” Steve shoved the pill bottle in her face.

“I know. I’d have to take double the amount to feel the effects.”

It took a second for the meaning of her words to register in his mind.

She was enhanced too. But he already knew that from reading her files.

“But it says five _daily,_ Nat. It’s supposed to be over the course of one _day_ , not one _second,_  Jesus. And you’ve just downed double of that amount at one go.” Steve remarked, still staring at her as if she was crazy.

“Then I get ten-times the efficiency.”

Steve shook his head, “You’re crazy. You know that?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and snatched the pill bottle from his hands, “Relax, Steve. I’ve done this before.”

“You’ve done this before…uh-huh. And how’d that go? Did it, by any chance, end up with you lying in a hospital bed.” Steve deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes again, “ _No._ I’ll just get really drowsy. But other than that I’ll be fine.”

From her seat on the bed, she slid towards the bed's edge, and placed the pills back onto the night stand.

“Shouldn’t you be lying down?” Steve chided.

She leaned her back gently against the backboard.

“I will. In a minute.”

Steve went around to the other side of the bed and plopped himself down.

He picked up the pair of red Bluetooth earphones discarded on the bed earlier. He turned the device around in his palm, though he never plugged them into his ears. He didn't want to invade her privacy. Rich indeed, coming from a guy who had no compunctions about eavesdropping on the private conversation between her and her lover.

“It helps me sleep.”

He turned at her voice. Her face was blank, and nonplussed. Though she did seem more relaxed now, and any traces of pain from before were absent from her face.

He thought for a moment about her words.

It helped her sleep…

Ah.

_The lullaby._

So that was what she’d been listening to through the earphones.

“And sometimes, if I’m lucky, they’d even help keep the nightmares away.” She spoke again.

Steve nodded, “Sorry for sneaking up on you just now.”

She smirked, “You’re saying like as if you _can._ ”

He chuckled.

“Fair enough.” He said, and passed the earphones back to her.

The earphones soon joined the glass beside the nightstand.

“Steve?”

Their eyes met.

There was a slight hesitant look in her eyes.

“Where’s your shield?” She asked.

Just like that, everything clicked in his head.

“My _shield_? _That’s_ what you were looking for on the floor?” Steve asked incredulously.

“No shit.” She deadpanned.

Steve chuckled.

“And you couldn’t have just asked?”

“When I didn’t see it outside the living area just now, I figured it’d be in the bedroom. So I didn’t ask when we were both outside. And then when I was finally in the bedroom, I still didn’t see it. So I looked.”

“Still, you could’ve just asked.”

She threw a quick shrug.

“When it came to me, you were already in the shower.”

Steve briefly considered the scenario of Natasha breaking into the bathroom while he was buck ass nude under the shower. And all that just to ask for the whereabouts of his shield.

He blushed a little at the thought.

He cleared his throat.

“What makes you think that I’d keep it under the bed?” He asked, a little amusingly.

“Because I couldn’t find it anywhere. And that’s the only place left that I haven’t looked.”

Steve sighed.

“You couldn’t find it because it isn’t even in Wakanda.”

Her features contorted in confusion.

“Then where is it?”

“I don’t know.” He said in a clipped tone.

“What, did you throw it off a cliff or something?” She joked.

“I lost it during the fight in Siberia.”

“So it’s in Siberia, then.”

Steve snorted, “I don’t know? Maybe it’s now with its _rightful owner,_ hung up on some wall in the White House.”

The look of confusion deepened in her face, “Why would-”

Understanding flash across her features. And then guilt. Guilt over her own words.

_Technically, it’s government property._

He saw her cringe, and for the n-billionth time of the night, he felt like a complete asshole.

“I’m so sorry, Nat. That was uncalled for." Steve shook his head, "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.” Steve placated.

Natasha sighed, “Guess I deserved that.”

“No. No. You were right all along, Nat. That shield was never mine.” Steve said.

He recalled Tony’s words at the end of their fight. _“That shield does not belong to you. You don’t deserve it! My father made that shield.”_

“So you really don’t know where it is?” Natasha asked.

“Well, if you want my best guess? Then I’d say Tony has it. But none of that matters now.” Steve sighed, “I don’t need the shield anymore.”

Then much to Steve’s surprise, Natasha let out an uncharacteristic whine before she slurred, “Steve…don’t go there. You’re blaming yourself again. You promised not to… you promised……”

_Must be the drowsiness kicking in. That explains it._

“I know, Nat. I know. Come on, let’s get some rest, okay? We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yeah…long day. With, extra, extra omelettes.” She mumbled.

_O…kay. **Definitely** the drugs. _

He chuckled and smiled affectionately at her.

And when she returned his smile, Steve was once again taken by surprised.

Because he’d honestly never ever seen her looked so young and... and... _**carefree**_ before.

And he knew, right then, that the person smiling back at him wasn’t the Black Widow.

It was young Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

 

* * *

 

They lay side by side, with their backs facing each other.

He’d surrendered all blanket rights to her.

One, because he was a supersoldier, so he sure didn’t need some goddamn duvet to sleep, thank you very much. And two, he _needed_ her to have all of it, lest there were some _dangerous_ and _perilous_ physical contacts considering the fact that they'd be spending the night with each other in such close quarters.

Steve lay as still as a fucking log, counting his own heartbeat, and rehearsing through every single breathing technique he had in his book.

None of them worked.

He was a nervous wreck.

Was she even awake?

He honestly couldn’t tell.

For a moment, he strained himself, trying everything in his power to stretch his hearing abilities to its limits, just to check if her breathing was even.

Then again, scratch that, because all he could hear was his own pounding heart.

Maybe he should take the damn couch after all. Because at this rate, he seriously doubt that he could sleep a wink.

But somehow, the thought of leaving her alone on her own just…

Ugh. Hell. He ain’t goin’ _nowhere_.

“I didn’t mean them, you know?”

He heard her voice through the pounding in his ears.

Her voice was a still a little bit slurred. But nothing to cause any major alarm. It wasn't like speech impairment or anything.

“I really didn’t mean them.” She said again.

Steve took a breath.

It was obvious what she was referring to.

_Guess, I was totally wrong about you, huh? **The whole world** , was wrong about you._

Yes. Her words from before did hurt. But he knew that she didn’t really mean them. They were yelling at each other. None of them were themselves.

Steve exhaled.

“I know you didn’t.” He said.

“But they still hurt you. My words. They still hurt you.”

“A little…” He tried to downplay it.

She chuckled, “You’re a shitty liar, Steve.”

Steve didn’t utter another word. He didn’t even know what the hell to say.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, _really_  sorry.” She whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

Steve shook his head even though she couldn’t see it, “It’s okay. I mean, there is some truth after all in what you said. Maybe the whole world really was wrong about me.”

Steve sighed.

“Steve…you promised not to do this tonight. So please, don’t…”

“I hadn’t really lost the shield, Nat. I…” He exhaled, “I gave it up.”

“What?”

“Tony… he…uh…he said I don’t deserve the shield. And…and he’s right, Nat.”

“You’re an idiot, Rogers.” She chided.

Steve laughed, “That’s the second time now. Second time you called me an idiot straight to my face.”

“Listen to me. It was Steve Rogers who’d made that shield worthy, okay? Not the other way around.”

Steve’s heart warmed.

Natasha went on, “And don’t give me that _I’m-not-Captain-America-anymore_ bullshit.”

Steve chuckled slightly at her sassiness.

“You wanna know something?” She asked before he could speak.

“Sure.”

“Well, to me, you’ll always be Captain America.”

“Guess you don’t watch much TV these days, huh?” Steve joked.

She went on, “Don’t you get it, Steve? Captain America _didn’t_ make you.  _ **YOU**  made Captain America, Steve._ It was all you, okay?Captain America only exists because of  ** _you._** ”

The warmth he’d felt in his chest moments ago had now spread to his stomach, to his limbs, to his face, and throughout his entire effing body. Because _this,_ this moment right there, served as a powerful reminder.

A reminder, that even in the shittiest times of one’s life, there could still be a possibility for joy.

Because right now, right at this precise moment, Steve Rogers was a happy man. And Natasha Romanoff made that possible.

“Thank you, Nat.”

 

* * *

 

The bedroom’s ceiling certainly wasn’t as interesting as the one in the Royal Dining chamber.

Here, there were no glass domes for him to stargaze through.

There was only the voiding darkness, and the rhythmic blinking red from the digital clock on the nightstand beside Natasha’s head.  

All he could do was blink along.  

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink with the red lights.

Blink.

And then blink some more.

As if each blink would take him one step closer to slumber.

“Steve…?”

Her slurred voice induced a hiatus in his blinking streak.

“Yeah?”

There was a short pause.

He counted 6 blinks. 6 seconds passed.

“I’m glad that you’re okay…”

This time he couldn’t resist the urge to look at her.

He turned his head towards her side of the bed, towards the source of the blinking red lights.

Her back was still to him, he noticed. And the duvet was wrapped snugly around her at shoulder level.

He could make out her scarlet tresses, and for a split second he marveled at the beautiful overlap of red on red. Blinking red lights on her red hair. Red on red.

“I’m glad you’re okay too, Nat. It's good that they didn't catch you.” He said back.

“I was... I was a little scared you know…” She whispered, her words slightly garbled due to her drowsiness. Speaking of drowsiness, _damn_ , ten Vicodin pills at one go, and she’s still talking and kickin’, Lord, what a tough dame she was.

She was scared, she said. Her? Scared?

Huh.

“Can’t imagine you ever being scared, Nat.” He remarked lightly.

“When I let you go at that airport…I thought that…I thought that I had killed you…” she mumbled.

Killed him?

What? 

Oh.  _Oh._

Comprehension dawned upon him.

_Of course._

From her point of view, he had been embarking on a dangerous mission facing off against 5 supersoldiers, with only one mentally unstable war buddy as his backup.

_Of course, she’d worry._

“Hey, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I'm here now. And I won’t be dying anytime soon, Nat.”

She grunted a little, “Yeah you better not. You ss…ssteel owe me dat esstra…esstra…ommalert.”

_Boy, she’s really out of it, isn’t she?_

Steve chuckled, “Yes. Omelettes. Got it.”

“Steeeff… Have you ever… ever…”

Steve stifled a laugh. Who would’ve thought, that a drowsy Natasha Romanoff could be  _this_ chatty.

“Ever what?”

Steve felt a sudden movement beside him, like a shake. Almost as if Natasha was trying to shake herself awake.

When she spoke next, her words were slightly clearer.

“You ever felt like…” She took a deep breath through her nose, “like…you just…can’t hide yourself anymore?”

Steve’s brows creased.

_What’s this about?_

“Not really, Nat. Why do you ask?” He spoke, careful to keep the tone of suspicion out of his voice.

There was that drowsy slur back in her words again, “It’s just…I’m just…so tired of…of hiding... and... and of running... so tired…so tired...”

And, again, good God. How was she even conscious after taking ten of those pills? Damn. What a woman.

“Then don’t hide, Nat. Just be you.” He said.

“Steeeff…there’s…there’s something…something that I gotta tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry…Steeeff. I...I haven’t...haven't been completely... honest, with you. I’m ss…sorry.”

_What the hell?_

He turned his head.

Her back was still to him. And she was lying still. Though her breathing was deep and even.

She seemed relaxed.

“Nat?”

“It’s just with everything that happened… I let you go back there... and I really thought you were gonna die…and it just...” She sighed, “It got me thinking about…about…a lot of things. And I just…”

“God, Nat. What? What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“The truth is…Steeff… The trooth...trooth is… I think… I think… I… I lo…”

And then she went quiet, with the final syllable at the end of her sentence nothing but a hiss, a light release of air from her mouth.

“Nat?” Steve asked worriedly.

He shifted closer to her side and shook her a little. And when she didn’t respond, he tugged at her shoulder and spun her body around until she was lying on her back.

The moment he saw her chest rising up and down in an even and slow rhythm, he heaved a sigh of relief.

She fell asleep.

_But what the hell was **that?** _

Seriously, what was that?

He thought back to her final words before she conked.

She said something about the truth of something?

The truth? About what?

The truth was...? She thought she... _something_.

She thought she… what? She thought she wanted to get hitched or something?

Did Banner propose? He thought bitterly.

She thought she… ugh.

This was pointless.

His eyes flicked to the woman lying beside him.

He stared at her sleeping form, at her slightly parted lips, at the strand of hair that had escaped her bun and had fallen over her eyes, at the flashes of red from the digital clock.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Red on red.

Red light on red hair.

Red light on red lips.

He shifted closer to her, pushed the stray locks away from her eyes, and pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Sleep, my beautiful girl. Sleep…”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks! 
> 
> Now. Notice how I began this chapter with a touch of comedic drama? Yes? Haha. That's because today (the date this chapter is published) is a _certain_ someone's birthday, and Claudia always had this touch of comedic drama about her (just go read every single one of WinterXAssassin's comments, and you'll know what I mean). Since it's her birthday, and this chapter is sort of like a gift, I thought I could pay a little tribute by adding a little bit of her shtick in the chapter. Namely, COMEDIC DRAMA. Haha. I hope you guys found it funny? Did you guys found this chapter funny? Yes? No? Please let me know in the comments below.
> 
> You'd seen that in this chapter, Nat is slowly opening up her heart to Steve. She was beginning to crack. But she still had her issues. Her demons and her past needs to be dealt with. Somebody needs to give her the push. And it will happen soon. 
> 
> Okay. What do you guys think of this chapter? Did you enjoy it? What did you feel when reading it? Please let me know in the comments below. 
> 
> Please comment, okay? I've written like 152K ++ words for y'all. It'd be nice to read like maybe a hundred words from each of you. HAHA. In all seriousness, I really appreciate your feedback guys. It's for y'all's benefit too. Because by commenting, I'd know how to make the story better. And, also, you'd spare me from looking like an idiot, constantly swiping down and refreshing my gmail app just to see if somebody had commented. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, Claudia.
> 
> Peace.  
> Isaiah.


	22. Heroes and Victims (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back again. 
> 
> First and foremost, I have a few things to say. I hadn't initially planned to publish a new chapter today. Because I haven't actually finished writing "Heroes and Victims" just yet. However, a lot of my readers have been asking about me. And then all of a sudden, I feel really, really, bad for keeping my readers waiting. So I've decided to publish it in several parts, just to give my readers out there something to read while I work on the rest of the chapter. 
> 
> I know guys, it's been 4 months, I know. And I'm sorry. I truly am. 
> 
> Secondly, "Heroes and Victims" is the **most** important chapter by far. I repeat, "Heroes and Victims" is the **most** important chapter by far. Think of it as the beginning of 'phase 2' of The Broken Shield. In all the parts of "Heroes and Victims", I will be introducing new characters into my story. New characters, who will play crucial roles in the future events of this story.
> 
>  **WARNING: When you read this chapter, please PAY SPECIAL ATTENTION TO THE SCENES' SETTINGS (THE DATE AND TIME)** Because there're a lot of 'easter eggs' there. *winks* 
> 
>  
> 
> **Message to my Readers**
> 
>  
> 
> To Jeanne:  
> You haven't been answering my emails. And I haven't heard from you in months. I don't even know if you are still alive. And I'm worried sick. All these time I keep having this fear that you wouldn't be alive to even read this chapter. I've put so much into this chapter, I'd be crushed if you didn't get to read the chapter I've dedicated to you. If you've read this message, please get back to me via email. If nothing else, just let me know that you're okay. 
> 
> To Asoreleks:  
> You will forever remind me of a tapir. And I'm sure you know why. Though, an exception can be made if you reveal your name to me privately. *Evil smirk* I've added you into this fic's giftlist! And where is your Redamancy???!!!!
> 
> To Jon Arthur Molt:  
> You are the second person to reach out to me during my long radio silence. I truly, truly appreciate that. And your kind words, and your advice, they helped. Immensely. Yes, pain is only temporary. Yes it is always darkest before the dawn. And yes, I will always keep my chin up (though I will certainly hold you accountable for the dog shit I step on). 
> 
> To Charlotte:  
> You are the first person who reached out to me, asking me for my well-being. I'm touched. And I'm sorry that I couldn't post on your birthday. I couldn't finish the chapter. Hence my desperate attempt to publish it in parts. Happy Belated birthday. 
> 
> To Lea:  
> I noticed a particular quirk of yours. You will only follow up my comments only once, and then you wouldn't reply to any of my replies _after_ the last one. I wonder why. Would love to hear your music some day. 
> 
> To Alissa:  
> I'm still waiting. Waiting for those long comments you'd promised me. 
> 
> To Josephine:  
> I am glad that you've found The Broken Shield enjoyable. Here is the first part of the 'next chapter' that you'd begged for. I really hope you will like it :)
> 
> To Juliet KB:  
> You literally saved my brains that first time when you told me that Jeanne is alive. That was months ago. Now it seems like I might need your help again :( Anyway, here you go. My super long chapter. Only the first part. I hope you like it. 
> 
> To Claudia:  
> I'm surprised you haven't regaled The Broken Shield's comments' section with your dramatic flair. It's gotten rather quiet without you. You're most welcome to make some noise. 
> 
> To Raquel:  
> We've talked most during the time I'm squeezing out this chapter. Our talks helped me a lot. Thank you for that. I hope you'll like this chapter.
> 
> To Ella:  
> Here is my warm tea for your winter morning.

**Special Dedication:**

 

_To the beautiful Jeanne who is currently fighting an arduous battle with cancer:_

_With all my heart and soul, I dedicate <Heroes and Victims> to you. _

_May it bring hope, joy, and strength into your life._

_May it inspire you, and be with you as you pave down the road to recovery._

 

 

_Dear Jeanne,_

_Let <Heroes and Victims> be my tribute to your strength. _

_Let it be an exaltation of your survival._

_Read this._

_Whenever you feel lonely or disheartened, read this._

_So that through my words, I can be there._

_For you. And with you._

 

* * *

_“I am not what has happened to me. I am what I choose to become.” – Carl Jung, Swiss Psychiatrist and Psychoanalyst, Founder of Analytical Psychology_

 

* * *

 

**THE GIRL WONDER**

**Monday, 2.37PM, 22 nd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

The running man.

Sprightly and swift in the wake of apprehension.

Stygian contours of his silhouette zipped along the corridor as his black loafers drummed richly against smooth porcelain tiles, tapping out rhythms of distress: Tap, tap, tap, tap, they went. Footfalls of a desperate man, each punctuated with silent orisons offered to any obliging deity. He never was a believer. But right then, he was praying.   

His strides screamed haste.

His chest burned. Lungs, vanquished by plight. The Great Pulmonary Famine. Where colonies of alveoli slowly withered to tiny moribund sacs; starved, hungry for oxygen molecules. 

If only his breathing could match his pace.

If only.

STEP! STEP! HUFF! STEP! HUFF!

None of this was supposed to happen.

STEP! STEP! HUFF! STEP! PANT!

Of course, he knew that it _will_ happen at some point, eventually. But what ultimately baffled him was the timing of it. It wasn't suppose to be this soon. 

7 weeks.

7 weeks from now. Those were the doctors’ assurances; said that everything was progressing fine, and that everything should be on schedule. Nothing to worry about, they said. Everything was normal, they said.

STEP! HUFF! STEP! HUFF! STEP! HUFF! HUFF!

Yet, here he was, wondering if the doctors had gotten it all wrong after all.   

STEP! STEP! STEP!

SMACK!!

HUFF! HUFF! HUFF! PANT!

Lactic acid prevailed, and the man’s body collapsed into the nearest wall within reach. Vertigo smote him, like tidal waves crashing against a shore. And for a moment, his world consisted only of whirling white spots which bore much resemblance to the march of ignis fatuus. Chaos took helm, overthrowing his faculties in its reign. Everything spun as he reeled. Objects, spatially distorted ones, spiraled haphazardly. The lights, the stark paleness of the porcelain flooring, his shoes, his own shaky hands, those goddamn signboards; they were all spinning, flying about in the narrow space like wrathful phantoms, like wraiths. Things were so contorted that he might as well have been propelled into some kind of space warp, or a black hole. It was as if the boundaries of existence were blurred. As if all physical information were jumbled up: stretched, torn apart, and then reconfigured into something unfamiliar. He couldn't tell if he was still him, or if his existence had somehow merged with that of the signboards a couple feet away.

A second wave of nausea assaulted the pit of his gut. He squeezed his eyes shut and staggered a few steps forward, hands flailing in search of the side railing that he knew must be attached to the wall somewhere. Grateful to find the railing within reach, he latched on to it in an all-out effort to regain a modicum of equilibrium.

He knew he must look utterly pathetic right then: being a man whose prime had long since fallen by the wayside, and who could barely keep himself upright for more than two seconds. He tried picturing himself as he was, but came up with something downright revolting: man bent over in some dark hallway, wheezing as if his life depended on it.

As if on cue, his stomach convulsed. One hand abandoned the railing to settle on his stomach. He retched. It occurred to him that in all the years he had lived, never had he spurned himself more than he did now. His own weakness revolted him. 

Somewhere amidst the pounding and ringing in his ears, a voice inside him whispered. He quickly recognized the voice as his own. Or _rather,_ the voice belonged to his over-censorious superego who was, at that moment, exceptionally keen on reminding him of his responsibilities as a husband and father.

_Don’t faint. Don’t faint._

_Don't be a weakling._

_Your wife and son needs you…_

_Stand up, you weakling..._

He re-opened his eyes and forced himself to move.

To no avail.

He staggered a few more steps before he slumped against the wall, his left side crashing into the railing. He squeezed his eyes shut again in an attempt to block out the nausea (the fourth wave now). And the confusion. And the sharp, incessant, throb at the side of his head. With his right hand, he reached up and prodded the tender skin of his lacerated scalp. A slight stickiness was felt at the tip of his fingers, about 2 inches above his right ear.

A frustrated growl pushed its way out of his system.

He was bleeding. All this time, he had been losing blood. Which, he supposed, would explain the prolonged dizziness and the nausea he’d been feeling all the way here to the hospital. He’d even venture to say that that he was sporting a concussion now. Hell, he might even need stitches.

Such _terrific_ luck.

With a light shake of his head, he expelled his negativity in favor of more pressing matters. His wife’s well-being, for one; his son’s too; all the things that he valued more than his own life.

And elevators.

Elevators.

Yeah. He needed to get to the elevators. His wife must be somewhere upstairs.

_Find the elevators._

The man pulled in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly through his nose. It was all he could do to get his bearings back and reset his mental compass.

Just where the hell _WAS_ he, anyway? He had come in not from the hospital’s front entrance, but from the emergency exit instead, so he knew he couldn’t possibly be at the front lobby. Also, judging from the lack of chatter or the typical dinging sound of elevators, he was probably nowhere near the elevator lobbies either.

_Where am I? Why’s it so quiet here?_

The man risked opening his eyes again, but only to realize that he had far from recovered from his woozy, dizzy fit. Objects were still warped and blurry.

_Great._

On the bright side, the spinning had stopped. And soon, he’d probably be able to stand up and walk again.

Soon.

Now he just had to breathe.

So he did.

He breathed, breathed, breathed, breathed and breathed.

The air was stale. A complete miasma, and with an unabating taste of sickness looming in it. There was also the distinctive odor of iodoform, which he downright hated.

The whole place tasted like death. And rot. 

He hated hospitals. Hospitals were ominous. They were places where one’s life could change completely, and often in a bad way. A terminal diagnosis? Death of a loved one? Failed deliveries? You name it. Hospitals were where bad things happen; where _crazy_ happens.

And right now, his world was every bit crazy. 

But even more stupefying, was the sublime transition from routine into crazy. It was staggering, to say the least. Like as if he’d been ran over by a speeding truck, one that he never saw coming.

Indeed, the afternoon had started out excruciatingly slow. As usual, work at the office had been dull and lackluster. The day couldn’t have been more banal; exactly the kind of day which would have one overlooking the fact that life really turns on a dime sometimes. Things were so routine that he’d forgotten that life is pretty adept at pitching those curveballs too.

That was until those curveballs hit him square in the face.  

A phone call.

One phone call was all it took.

He had picked up his office phone sometime around 2.25 in the afternoon, expecting it to be another one of those long, drawn out conversation with his boss.

Only, it wasn’t.

He’d heard the crying voice of his 15-year-old son through the receiver instead.

Never in his entire adult life had he paddled that fast on a bicycle before. Never. Speaking of bicycle, he figured that bicycle must be long lost by now, undoubtedly picked up by some cheap punk off the curb where he’d left it. The very same curb where he had a mishap: he had been in such a rush that he’d made too sharp a turn, the front wheel of his bike caught the side of the pavement as a result. The inertia sent him flying.

He must have blacked out for a while back there on the dirty pavement. And the next thing he knew when he got up? He was alone on the curb with a massive headache. His bicycle was nowhere to be seen.

Good thing he left his wallet back at the office.

He had made the rest of the way to the hospital on foot, sprinting as fast as his two legs could carry him, never once stopping for a breather.

Which made total sense in hindsight, considering the compromised physical states he was currently in. His legs felt like jelly, and his lungs felt as if they were housing an unquenchable inferno. A slight but persistent ringing assaulted his ears. His vision was still very much of a smudged blur. His senses were failing him. His body was undergoing a fatigue-induced meltdown. His brain was in a state of quasi-hypoxia. And the only thing keeping him upright was some dirty, rusty, side railing attached to a hospital wall.

How pathetic could a man be?

He felt a sting in his eyes from his own sweat. He blinked his eyes shut again.

His soul dissolved in fear.

Apprehension ate at his viscera.

_7 weeks early. 7 weeks._

_That’s not normal at all, was it?_

_What if something was wrong?_

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a sudden weight on his right shoulder: a nudge.

There was a voice.

A soft, feminine voice. 

He turned, squinted through his haze, and saw white. A huge… _blob_ , of white blur.

There was something attached to it, on its right, at the top corner. Something rectangular, and _translucent._ Something that looked a little like…plastic.

A nametag.

_A nurse._

He straightened to his full height, despite the protests of his lurching stomach, hands never leaving the railing.

He shook off the last vestige of vertigo and focused instead on the face in front of him, on the pair of moving lips.

He strained, for dignity’s sake.

It took a couple of seconds for him to fully make out her words.

“Mhlekazi! Mhlekazi! <Sir! Sir!>”

“Mhlekazi…Ingaba ulungile? <Sir…are you alright?>”

This time, he mustered enough strength to push himself off the railing and waved her off.

“Ndiyaphila…enkosi. <I am fine, thank you.>” he said.

“Ingaba uqinisekile? <Are you sure?>”

“Ewe. Uxolo, ndifuna ukuba ndihambe. <Yes. Excuse me, I need to go.>” He spluttered out before willing his legs to move.

“Kodwa wena uyopha!! <But you are bleeding!>” The voice shouted behind him.

He pushed forward, ignoring the pleas of the well-meaning nurse.

He turned at a corner at the end of the hallway into another empty corridor. Now mindful of his bleeding head wound, he reached into his pocket and took out a folded flat cap before pulling it over his head. 

And then he pushed on. 

 

*     *     *

 

Momentary relief came when he finally reached the elevator lobby. His right hand slammed repeatedly on the up button while his eyes rapidly scanned the building’s floor directory.

Seconds later, he found his intended destination.

_Level 8 – Obstetrics/Gynecology_

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

His foot bounced impatiently against porcelain, his eyes laser focused on the changing numbers above the twin metal doors.

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

_10_

_9_

_8_

He noticed movement on his left.

_7_

He turned his head.

It was a medical officer in scrubs, pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair towards the elevator lobby. There was a tall protrusion from the wheelchair’s right handle. A metal rod with two miniature hooks on its top end.

An IV bag dangled from one of the hooks.

_6_

The wheelchair stopped beside him, and the officer nodded her greeting, one that he brusquely returned.

“You look a little pale, sir.” She commented in perfect English.

He smiled reassuringly, “Was in a bit of a rush. I’ll be fine. Just need to catch my breath.”

_DING!_

The doors slid open.

He gestured for the officer and the elderly to enter first before he followed.

 

*     *     *

 

The 8th floor was tranquil.

None of the chairs and couches in the waiting area were occupied. And it seemed that other than the lady at the reception counter, he was completely alone.

He stalked past the rows of empty chairs towards the receptionist, where he was greeted by a friendly face.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

“Uhh…It’s about my wife. I got a call from my son 15 minutes ago about some kind of emergency…”

The lady turned to the computer screen on her desk.

“Family name?”

“Nkululeko.”

She began typing on the keyboard, giving him another chance to catch his breath.

A loud and shrill wail sounded somewhere. Tantrums of a hungry baby, he reckoned.

“Sir.”

“Yes?” He said, his attention went back to the reception lady.

“Mrs. Nkululeko was brought here 20 minutes ago via ambulance. According to reports, she went into labor while driving.”

Mr. Nkululeko’s face paled.

_Why on earth was she even driving? I told her to stay put at home!_

“Was there…was there an accident?”

The receptionist turned back to the screen, her finger pushing at the mouse’s scroll-wheel. “Actually, yes, there was. But it was minor.”

He exhaled, “What about my son? Was he in the car too?”

“He was. But he’s fine. They brought him along in the ambulance. They said he was the one who called the hospital.”

“Is there something wrong with the baby? I mean, how can she go into labor _now_? She’s only one week into her third trimester. The doctors said we have another 7 weeks to go.” He rambled incoherently.

The receptionist’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry, sir, I really don’t have all the details.”

“What about my wife’s status?”

“Ah…the doctors are still working on her. Operation theatre 5.” She pointed to his right, “Walk down this hallway, and then enter through the third door on your left.”

“Enkosi. <Thank you.>”

 

*     *     *

 

**Monday, 2.52PM, 22 nd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Operating Theatre 5, Level 8, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

He spotted his son on one of the benches in the waiting area. 

“Themba.” Nkululeko called out to his son.

“Baba!” The 15-year-old boy leaped up from his seat and ran straight into his father’s waiting arms.

“Themba, my boy…” Nkululeko whispered as he wiped away the tears from his firstborn’s cheeks, “tell me what happened.”

When their eyes met, he saw guilt flashed across the boy’s eyes.

His son turned away, “Mama was driving us back…from…from school...” the poor boy stammered.

His son’s words caught Nkululeko by complete surprise. For one, school didn’t end until 3. And secondly, _he_ had been the one picking the boy up from school ever since one week ago when his wife entered her third trimester. They’d gone over this more times than he could count now.

“School? But I thought school finishes at 3?” Nkululeko prodded, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. Though he took heed to keep his tone exculpatory. He didn’t want to make things any harder for his son. Things were bad enough as they were.

“Last period got cancelled today.” the boy answered vaguely.

“Then why didn’t you call my office? I could’ve picked you up.” Nkululeko asked, maybe a little bit too harshly, because the 15 year old just started crying again. 

“I’m sorry, Baba. I’m sorry. This is all my fault!!” the boy wailed, “I begged Mama to come pick me up so that we could go see that new planetarium…” another sob escaped the poor kid, “I’m sorry…I was selfish…I knew you would’ve sent me straight home and head back to the office if you were the one who pick me up, so I called Mama instead. And she came to school…” the boy was half-shouting now, “Everything was fine! She was fine, baba, I swear it! Mama was driving smoothly…We didn’t even do anything! And then I just don’t know what happened and-”

Nkululeko’s heart clenched at the sight of tears streaking down Themba’s cheeks.

He pulled his son closer towards him, “Hey, hey, son……it’s alright now. It’s alright. Calm down.”

He lied. Nothing was alright.

He really hated himself right then, for being so helpless. There was nothing he could do to make it all better, nothing. Nothing other than spouting white lies.

Nkululeko watched the boy pull away to dry his tears.

Gently, he guided the boy towards the uncomfortable benches lined up against the wall. Once the kid sat down, Nkululeko eyed the metal doors leading towards the operating theatre. Red words, block-letters, strewn across the door’s top edge:

 SURGERY IN PROGRESS

He let out a quiet sigh.

They were completely helpless. 

Nkululeko sat himself down beside his son, who seemed to have regained most of his composure.

“Tell me about the accident.” Nkululeko said.

“We were in the car, headed for town. Everything seemed normal. One second we were laughing at some stupid joke my Math teacher had shared with the class today, and the next, Mama had her hand on her stomach, screaming in pain. She hit the brakes hard, and the car behind rammed into ours.”

“Were you both hurt?”

The boy shook his head.

“No. We weren’t hurt. The accident was minor. The airbags didn’t even pop.”

“Okay…that’s good.”

“Yeah. But when the car stopped, Mama was still in pain. So I grabbed Mama’s phone and called an ambulance.”

A surge of pride burst through him, and Nkululeko wrapped one arm around his firstborn’s shoulders, “You did good, son. You did good...”

“But it’s still my fault! None of this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t beg Mama to come pick me up… all because I wanted to see the planetarium…”

He flinched at the tone of self-disdain he’d detected in his son’s voice.

The planetarium. Yes. Themba was a total sucker for astronomy. He quickly reminded himself to take his whole family to the planetarium when all this was over. They’d go ten, no, _thousands_ of times even, as many times as the kid wanted.

“Hey. Take it easy. It isn’t your fault…” he placated.

“You don’t have to make me feel better, Baba. I’m old enough to know it when I’m wrong.”

“Listen, kid. Mama went into _premature_ labor, and believe it or not, it was actually a good thing that you were there when it happened. Or else she would’ve been all alone at home with no one around to call for help. So stop blaming yourself.” Nkululeko stated firmly.

The adolescent went quiet, but Nkululeko could tell that his words had somewhat eased the guilt off Themba’s shoulders.

He gave the boy’s back a little clap, “Hey. You did well, son. Your quick thinking saved your Mama _and_ your baby sister.”

Without another word, the boy glanced towards the operating theatre.

“I just hope that you’re right, Baba.”

_So do I, son._

_So do I._

  

_*     *     *_

 

**Monday, 9.00PM, 22 nd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Room 817, Maternity Ward, Level 8, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

They say it’s moments like these that make a man’s life truly worth living.

And they were right.

It was beautiful. Where a new life was born. Created, out of the union of two human beings who love each other deeply, it was beautiful. Almost magical, like a touch of the divine.

But even more wondrous, was the fact that they’d made it. Despite the overwhelming odds they’d faced within the last 12 hours, they’d made it. Both the mother and the baby were safe and sound.

They’d truly made it.

And thus began a new chapter of their lives, hopefully a happy one. 

Standing beside the sophisticated hospital bed, Nkululeko stared down lovingly at the woman in front of him, and he was once again reminded of why he was the luckiest man on earth. To be able to love, _and_ be loved, by this amazing woman in front of him was decisively **_the_** best thing that ever happened to him. Indeed, from the very moment he’d laid eyes on her sixteen years ago, he just sort of… _knew._ Knew, that this woman was his path to happiness.

And of course, being the smart bastard that he was, Nkululeko had wasted no time back then. He knew that time waits for no man. Just three months after they’d first met, he had put a ring on her finger, securing her heart for all eternity.

Best damn decision of his life.

Because the best years of his life were those that he had spent with _her._

Her. His best girl. 

Aurora Nkululeko was a renowned geophysicist in Wakanda. Smart, driven, talented, and beautiful. And most importantly, she was his wife. The love of his life. And the mother of his two beloved children. Even without knowing it, Aurora had given him the two most precious gifts a man could ever hope for. The mere thought of that had his eyes pricking. The good kind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? I won’t judge.” the lady in question muttered from her position on the hospital bed. Her voice sounded croaky due to her throat’s dryness: possibly due to the hours she had spent shouting and groaning while in labor. Despite its hoarseness, the mirth in her voice was still plain as day. He let out a chuckle.

Now _that_ , was his beloved. Always so cheerful, like a bright star in his universe.

His bubble burst when Aurora let out a series of dry hacks that had him cringing inside. Clearing his throat, Nkululeko sprung to action. He headed posthaste towards the credenza at the corner of the room. From the cabinet, he pulled out a jug and a glass. 

“How are you feeling, honey? Any better?” He reached the bedside again, holding out the glassful of water.

“Feels like somebody finally took out the bowling ball that’d been in my stomach for _months_. So yeah, better.” She coughed loudly again. Nkululeko grimaced in concern, like as if he was able to share her pain.

He moved forward and patted Aurora’s back.

“Here, drink up.” He pressed the glass into her hands.

She nodded, “Can you hold her for a sec?”

Nkululeko nodded. Very gently, he took the precious bundle of flesh from his wife’s arms.

Tears stung his eyes.

His daughter felt so small in his arms. So fragile. Heck, for a split second, he was a little afraid to even hold her. Because she just felt so darn precious. So breakable.

The little one stirred from her slumber the moment she settled into her father’s embrace for the first time, like as if she could detect the sudden change in her environment, or the foreign heat and scent of her father. Nkululeko could only stare at the pair of little eyes peering up at him from his arms.

“She has your eyes.” He said candidly, almost dreamily.

It was true. His pretty little girl had the most beautiful pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“I know.”

“And she has your face too. Especially the mouth.” He commented lightly before he went back to cooing and rocking.

“But she’s got your nose though.” said his wife.

He turned to the woman and smiled, his body still swaying and rocking back and forth in an attempt to lull the baby back to sleep.

“She’s beautiful. Just like her mother.” He said with a grin.

Aurora laughed, “Such an old sap.”

“Hey, I’m 37. I’m not _that_ old.”

“37 _is_ old, you geezer.” She teased mirthfully.

“But you love me anyway.”

They stared at each other, conveying torrents of emotions through sight alone. Sixteen years of marriage, and they were still every bit in love with each other.

And even more beautiful was the fact that he was now _holding_ the byproduct of their love in his arms.

“That’s right, geezer. I love you. Now pass her back. I miss my baby girl already.”

“Hear that? Mama misses you now.”

Aurora chuckled and relished at the now familiar weight in her arms.

“That’s right. Ma. Ma. Misses. You.” She muttered, punctuating each syllable. The baby’s arms flailed in response, her tiny fists scratching under her mother’s chin.

Nkululeko couldn’t help but smile. For a moment, he watched his wife fumble around with the blankets, trying to get into a comfortable position. Come to think of, she’d been awake for a little over two hours now. Maybe it was bedtime. He should probably help get her settled in before he headed back home-

“Mm…mmua...”

He froze.

What was that?

Did the baby just…

Did his daughter just… _speak_?

Wait. What? How was that even possible?

Nah. Impossible.

It couldn’t be. 

But still.

He’d _heard_ it.

He was _sure_ he’d heard it.

All of a sudden, his excitement burst through.

“Honey, did you hear something just now? Did you hear it?” Nkululeko hissed, bending forward towards the bedside, both arms perched at the bed’s side railing.

Aurora stopped her fumbling and threw him a strange look.

“Hear what?”

“The baby! The baby! She spoke! Didn’t you hear it?” He exclaimed, his whole being bubbling with excitement.

Now that strange look turned into a deep frown of worry.

“Honey, are you okay?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“She said mmm…mmm…muaa something. Aurora! She was trying to say Mama! I heard it just now!”

Aurora rolled her eyes, “ _Honey._ Don’t be ridiculous. She’s barely a _day_ old.”

“But…I heard…” Nkululeko trailed off, his brows scrunched up in confusion.

“You must’ve imagined it, honey. Babies generally can’t utter words until they are at least 4 months old.”

He sighed. Yes. He knew that was true. Themba didn’t even start making sounds until he was 6 months old.

But still.

But **_still_**.

He was _positive_ that he’d heard something just now. Absolutely positive. Could he really have imagined it?

His gaze settled on his newborn, now asleep in her mother’s embrace. She looked so peaceful, like as if she hadn’t just opened her little mouth and tried to utter ‘Mama’ just seconds ago. Then again, maybe she _really_ hadn’t said it. Maybe he’d really imagined everything. After all, he did suffer a minor head injury on the way here.

He gave himself a little shake.

Okay. Fine. Yeah. He _must_ have imagined it. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.

“Honey, are you sure you are alright?” Aurora asked worriedly.

He sighed.

“Yes. I’m quite fine, thank you. Just tired, I guess.” Nkululeko said, leaving out the details about his accident. No need to worry his wife over such inconsequential trifles.

“Why don’t you head home for tonight? You have work tomorrow, right?”

Nkululeko shook his head, “No. I’ve already called the office. I’ll take a week off.”

“But you still have to send Themba to school tomorrow, though.”

He nodded.

“Go home, honey. You look really tired. I can take care of things here. Come back tomorrow after you’ve dropped Themba off school.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I can stay a bit longer.”

“ _Yes,_ I’m sure. Now go. I’m don’t want Themba to be home alone.”

Themba. Yes. He’d sent his son back home after the surgery ended. That was a few hours ago. And reluctantly, Nkululeko agreed. He should be with Themba right now. Had to make sure that the kid was alright. Poor kid must have had quite a shock after the day’s events.

“Be sure to call the nurse if there’re any problems.”

Aurora smiled, “Honey. _Go._ I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going.” He said, slowly backing away from the bed.

“Oh wait. One more thing,” said Aurora, causing Nkululeko to pause at the door, “Have you decided on a name yet? Obviously we haven’t really talked about this, and well, to be fair, we really hadn’t expected her to come out this early, so…” She shrugged at the end.

He thought for a while before smiling, “I think I have one.”

“Really?”

“Adanna. How does that sound?”

“Adanna…” Aurora parroted.

“Well? What do you think?”

“Good choice.”

“So Adanna it is, then?” He asked from across the room.

Aurora nodded, “Adanna it is.”

With a satisfied grin, he pushed open the door.

“Adanna…Adanna…”

That name, in the hushed tones of his wife, was the last thing he’d heard as he closed the door to Room 817.

And as he walked down the corridor towards the elevator, Nkululeko thought he might’ve just discovered a new lullaby for himself.

Adanna.

Adanna…

Yeah.

Maybe by saying the name of his baby, he just _might_ be able to sleep like a baby tonight too.

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 10.05AM, 23 rd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Consultation Room 3, Level 2, Department of Pediatric Neurology, Wakandan Heath Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa**

Nkululeko barged into the room without knocking.

“What’s going on?” He asked, just as the door slammed close behind him with an unceremonious bang.

He noticed Aurora, who was seated in front of a ridiculously large glass desk, whispering something to a man behind the desk. “That’s my husband.” Nkululeko caught her words.

She then turned towards him and waved him over to her side.

Without another word, Nkululeko made a beeline towards his wife.

There were two men behind that desk. The first man, whom Nkululeko easily recognized as Doctor Nadim, the obstetrician who’d been handling Aurora’s pregnancy all this while, stood at the desk’s right edge. Then the other man, the one whom Aurora had just whispered to, was seated in the only chair behind the desk, and was staring at a wide computer screen, which was turned away from both his and Aurora’s view. Nkululeko had never met the second man before, but he’d quickly guessed the guy’s name from the silver nameplate on the desk:

 DR. RAFAEL, DMSC

Chief Neurologist, Wakandan Health Institute.

Nkululeko gave his wife a quick hug and a kiss to each cheek.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I went upstairs, and they said you were brought down here.” Nkululeko asked anxiously.

“The doctors said they have something to discuss with us, about Adanna.” His wife answered gravely.

That tone of hers. That unease, and apprehension. It had his blood running cold.

“Where’s Adanna? Is she here?” He began glancing around the room. There were no signs of his daughter.

Then his sight landed on Doctor Nadim, the obstetrician.

“Mr. Nkululeko…I think it’s best if you first sit dow-”

“Where is she?” Nkululeko half shouted.

He felt Aurora grabbing at his arm, a futile effort to calm him down.

Doctor Nadim sighed.

“Come with me.”

Doctor Nadim gestured him forward, and led him right to the edge of the room, where a bunch of thick blinds obscured the view to what he figured to be some kind of glass window. The blinds were drawn back seconds later, revealing another small room adjacent to the one they were then standing in. He stepped forward towards the glass window, and peered.

The adjacent room was dimly lit, just bright enough for him to make out the contours of the various objects crammed inside the poky room. A crib was fixed at the room’s center. And in it, lay Adanna.

She was awake, her blue eyes sharp, and she seemed to be intently focused on the ceiling. Call him crazy, but for a moment, he thought he’d even seen a quick smile on Adanna’s face as she studiously scrutinize the cove ceiling above her. Strange, he thought. Today was only the second day of her birth, and yet, Adanna already seemed to be so energetic. So full of life. Perhaps that was a good thing? Surely, those were signs of a healthy baby?

Right?

Nkululeko heaved a sigh of relief.

To be honest, when he’d walked up to the 8th floor and found his wife and daughter missing, his mind had immediately jumped to the worst, thinking that something terrible must have happened to either one of them. But now, seeing them both alive and well, he couldn’t help but feel his nerves slowly settling.  

That relief, however, was short-lived.

Because he soon began noticing other… _peculiar…_ aspects of that room. 

All the ultra-sophisticated equipment attached to the crib was one thing. Notwithstanding the small and cramped space of the room, there were scientific equipment all over the place. Wires were strewn across the floor, some were even attached to crib, coiled heavily around the crib’s side railing. Fancy monitors with rows and rows of numbers and figures adorned all 4 walls of the room. On one edge of the crib, there were also a plethora of smaller display screens with funny and spiky graphs.

And then there were these electrodes. A whole big _bunch_ of grey electrodes attached to Adanna’s head.

The quasi-relief state in his mind shattered, and was replaced by a state of panic.

Why were they doing this?

Could something be wrong with the child?

“Why is she kept there?” He asked into the glass pane, though the question was directed at Doctor Nadim.

“We are monitoring her at the moment.”

A tinge of fear washed over Nkululeko’s voice.

“There’s something wrong with her, isn’t it, Doctor?”

Doctor Nadim held up his hand, “Mr. Nkululeko. I understand your concerns. But there are a few things that we need to look into first before we can make any conclusive claims. So until Doctor Rafael over there,” he pointed to the desk, “sorts out all the relevant data, I’m afraid we have no choice but to wait.”

“But all that…” Nkululeko pointed to the room at the other side of the glass, “You must have suspected something, right? You must have suspected that there’s something wrong with her?”

“Like I said sir, we are running a few tests, but until then-”

“Nadim. It’s okay. The data’s ready. And I think you **_might_** wanna take a look at this…” said the man at the desk. There was something in the way the man spoke that Nkululeko couldn’t really wrap his head around. Something in Doctor Rafael’s tone didn’t quite sit well with him. Through the glass window, Nkululeko watched Adanna staring back at him. Her blue eyes holding a curious glint.

Doctor Nadim left his side and headed back towards the desk. Nkululeko turned away from the glass window.

The room went completely quiet as the two doctors studied the screen.

The air lay thick. And neither Nkululeko nor Aurora could find the will to utter another word.

Nkululeko’s scalp tingled. His heart raced and his ribcage shook.

“My _word_ …is that…is that even normal?” Doctor Nadim said in a tone of utter disbelief.

“20 years of experience in neurology, Nadim, and I’ve honestly never seen **_anything_** like this before.” said the other doctor with a shake of his head.

Nkululeko felt himself robbed of his breath as his strength crumbled. And he was pretty sure he’d heard Aurora release a shaky breath of her own.

A few agonizing seconds later, both doctors raised their heads from the screen and turned to stare at the anxious parents. Surprisingly, the look on both doctor’s faces wasn’t that of sobriety, but rather, it was that of pure amazement.

The knot in Nkululeko’s stomach tightened. 

And then finally, Doctor Nadim spoke, “Mr. Nkululeko……sir, I think it’s best if you take a seat for what we’re about to tell you.”

 

*     *     *

 

Doctor Nadim led in, “Mr. and Mrs. Nkululeko…” there was a slight pause, and Nkululeko reached for Aurora’s hand in a tight clasp, silently conveying strength while preparing each other for whatever terrible news they were about to hear.

The obstetrician continued, “You are both aware of the _unusual_ circumstances of Adanna’s birth?”

Aurora answered quickly, “Yes, doctor. She came too early.”

“At least 7 weeks too early, yes.” Doctor Nadim paused, “And we now believe we might have an explanation for that...”He gestured to man beside him to pick up the explanation, “Doctor Rafael.”

Doctor Rafael spoke, “We have evidence showing that your daughter had experienced a…shall we say, _accelerated_ , prenatal development throughout your pregnancy.” He cleared his throat, “Well, to be more specific, our data indicates that your daughter had already begun experiencing advanced cerebral and neuromuscular development while she was still in the womb.”

Nkululeko and Aurora stared blankly at each other.

“Okay….So…wha… what does that mean?” Nkululeko asked.

“It means that although your daughter is technically only a day old, she _isn’t_ really a day old, Mr. Nkululeko. At least, not in terms of her brain and neuromuscular development.” Doctor Nadim answered pointedly.

Nkululeko’s jaw dropped open.

A day old but _not_ a day old?

Aurora broke the brief silence, “You said _accelerated_ development, Doctor Rafael?”

Doctor Rafael answered, “Yes.”

“Well? By how much?” Aurora asked calmly.

At that, Doctor Rafael turned the computer screen slightly into the view of the worried couple.

“If you look at this graph over here,” Doctor Rafael pointed to the top right corner of the large screen, “it shows the result of the EEG we’ve begun running on your daughter about 30 minutes ago. Now, an EEG, we call it electroencephalography, is one of the preliminary ways we can use to monitor a person’s brain activity. And as you can see, the graph is still moving and changing, correct? So that basically means-”

“It means that you guys are still monitoring her.” Nkululeko interjected.

Doctor Rafael smiled, “Correct.”

“I saw all the electrodes attached to her head when I looked through that window.” Nkululeko said to his wife as a way of explanation.

Doctor Rafael carried on his account, “Now, based on the general pattern of this graph, we know that your daughter is currently awake and mentally active.”

Nkululeko eyed the continuously changing and spiking blue lines on the screen, “Okay…But is it considered… _healthy_?”

Doctor Rafael nodded.

“Very. The EEG indicated no signs of brain damage, epilepsy, tumors or any other forms of encephalopathies.”

Both parents exhaled in relief.

“ _However_.”

Doctor Rafael paused and made a couple of clicks on the mouse.

In an instant, a red curve appeared on the same graph that contained Adanna’s EEG readings. Strangely, the second curve didn’t seem to be moving. Unlike the first curve, this one was static. Fixed. Nkululeko inched closer to the screen to get a closer look at the new red line that had appeared alongside Adanna’s readings. Both the red and blue curves, he quickly noticed, had strikingly similar patterns. Wherever the blue line went up, so did the red line. Wherever the blue line took a dip, again, so did the red. He wondered what that meant.

Confused, he turned to both doctors, hoping for an explanation.

This time, it was Doctor Nadim who spoke.

“Sir, that red curve shows the result of an EEG conducted on a healthy 6-year old boy in a classroom environment.”

From beside him, Aurora gasped. Nkululeko frowned, “Wait a minute, 6 years old? But the two curves are nearly the same. How could-”

His eyes widened in realization.

Doctor Rafael filled in the gaps, “Yes. It means that even though your daughter is barely a day old, she has the brain activity profile equivalent to a healthy, and mentally active six-year-old.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Nkululeko. Your daughter is special.” said Doctor Nadim with a small smile.

“My God…” Nkululeko said, clasping his wife’s hand even more tightly in his hands. At that point, he honestly had no clue whether to be happy or alarmed at the news.

“The EEG is just the start, though. We’ve conducted other tests, too.” Doctor Rafael continued.

With another click of the mouse, the EEG graphs disappeared, and was replaced with a large image which took up the entirety of the massive screen. The image had a dark background with a series of brain-like figures neatly arranged into two rows. Each brain-like diagrams were highlighted with patches and blobs of colors. Some colors were brighter than the others, though the majority of the color schemes were of the red spectrum.

“This is the result of your daughter’s fMRI scans. We call it functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging scan. It is a more comprehensive way of measuring brain activity by detecting the amount of oxygenated blood in different areas of the brain during the time of measurement.” Doctor Rafael explained.

“So these colors…does that mean that the brighter they are, the higher the brain activity?” Aurora made an educated guess.

“That’s correct, Ma’am.” Doctor Rafael affirmed, and at the same time he reached into his desk drawer. From the drawer, he pulled out a plastic model of the human brain and set it on the desk. He then pointed to the image on the screen, to the 5 brain like figures on the first row.

“These five were done when your daughter was asleep.” He said, and continued after a slight pause, “They looked healthy and normal. So there isn’t much concern there. But these,” He said next, pointing to the second row, “are what I want to talk to you about.”

At the couple’s silence, Doctor Rafael spoke on, “These bottom ones feature your daughter’s brain when she is awake and active.”

As if on cue, Doctor Nadim picked up the plastic brain model.

“First of all, it is clear that when she’s awake, your daughter’s brain is highly active, as you can see from the fact that most of the colors on her charts ranged from bright orange to red. Are you with me so far?”

The couple nodded.

“Now. What’s interesting to me, and what I think you as her parents should know, is that there are a couple of specific regions in her brain which have way above average brain activity compared to all other infants her age. In other words, I want to focus on these regions covered in red.” Doctor Rafael said, pointing to the screen.

“We found that your daughter’s brain has amazingly high level of activity in this region.” Doctor Rafael said, at the same time he circled his finger at the front of the plastic brain model. “It’s called the frontal lobe. It is known to be responsible for a person’s reasoning, planning, judgement, personality, behavior, emotions, intelligence, concentration, self-awareness, and also body movements.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?” Nkululeko asked warily.

“With proper care and guidance, then yes, absolutely. Well, it might even be a great thing. I mean, I certainly won’t be too surprised if your daughter starts developing prodigious abilities in…say, a month or two from now.” Doctor Rafael said with a smile. 

“So wait. Does it mean that… that even now during early infancy, she already has the ability to…to understand things like older kids?” Aurora asked.

Doctor Rafael’s smile widened, “Yes. That’s correct. We believe that at this point, your daughter had already developed complex cognitive abilities far beyond her age.”

“Incredible…” Nkululeko whispered.

“Very much so, sir. Very much so.”

“What about the other red regions? This one, for instance.” Aurora said, pointing her finger at the red blob near the center of one charts denoting Adanna’s brain.

“That’s the temporal lobe. It’s responsible for memory, hearing, sequencing and organization. There’s also a special region within the temporal lobe called the Wernicke’s area. That part is solely responsible for one’s language abilities, and speech.”

Just like that, something clicked in Nkululeko’s mind.

It was a memory. Of the previous night, back in the hospital room, when he thought he’d heard his daughter open her mouth to speak for the first time.

“Honey!” He turned to his wife, “I was right last night. She really _was_ trying to say Mama. I hadn’t imagined it.”

Aurora only smiled, wondering how on Earth she had managed to miss it.

“Based on these data we have here, I’m really not that surprised, sir. Your daughter’s brain scans indicate that she already has a mind close to that of a 5 or 6 year old. God knows how much more her brain will develop in a couple more months. ” Doctor Rafael said in amazement.

Doctor Nadim nodded, “It’s fascinating. Truly. Nearly 3 decades of my career, and I haven’t seen anything like this before. And believe me, I’ve handled a _lot_ of pregnancy cases.”

Doctor Rafael said, “Now, moving on to the next issue regarding Mrs. Nkululeko’s premature labor. We highly suspect that the accelerated development shown in your daughter’s frontal lobe and neuromuscular systems had something to do with that.”

“In what sense?” Aurora asked.

“The brain region that gives us control over our body movements is called the primary motor cortex. It is located right here,” Doctor Rafael pointed at the plastic model again, “at the upper side of our frontal lobe.”

“So you mean…”

“That’s right. Because of her accelerated frontal lobe development, we believe that your daughter had already developed too much control over her limbs to be kicking and turning around in your womb, hence causing you to go into premature labor. Usually, fetal movements aren’t the causes of the rupturing of amniotic sacs. But obviously, this is an exceptional case.” Doctor Nadim explained.

Nkululeko held up his palm, “Okay. So. All things considered, is she considered healthy at this point? I mean, do you think any of these… _conditions_ would cause any problems in the future?”

“Well, her vital signs looked great so far. Other than her overly high brain activity, we see no cause for concerns. She seems to be a very healthy baby.” Doctor Nadim commented and turned to Doctor Rafael.

“Agreed. Her vitals look very promising so far.” said the other doctor.

“But just to be on the safe side, I’ve arranged for a second round of physical examinations downstairs. We can head down straight away after this, will that be alright for you?” Doctor Nadim asked.

“That’ll be great, Doctor. Thank you.” Aurora said. 

“Anything else to add, Rafael?” Doctor Nadim turned the other man.

“There _is_ one thing. And I want you both to take this very, very seriously.” said Doctor Rafael, causing both parents to sit up straighter in their seats.

Once certain that he had both parents’ full attention, Doctor Rafael went on, “Both of you must remember that your daughter is essentially a 5-year-old child trapped in a baby’s body. So unless you are very careful in her upbringing, your daughter might face quite a few problems in terms of her psychological development. Do you follow?”

“So…basically, you are saying that we can’t really treat her like how we would normally treat a baby, because her mind has already matured beyond that?” Nkululeko inquired.

“Precisely. Because remember, your daughter already has an understanding of a 5-year-old at this point. So if you aren’t careful and end up treating her like a small infant, her mind will form the false conception that being treated like a baby was the _appropriate_ or the _right_ way for people to treat her. This would cause major problems later on in her life, do you both understand what I’m saying?”

The couple nodded.

“A child’s upbringing must be in accordance with the maturity of the child’s mind to ensure proper psychological development.” Nkululeko commented.

“That’s the idea.” Doctor Rafael said, nodding his head.

“So she needs special upbringing?” Aurora asked.

“About that…I wish I could tell you more. But unfortunately, I have to admit that it is beyond my expertise to advise you regarding the type of upbringing most suited for your daughter. I have, however, referred your case to the Institute’s Department of Psychology. Someone there would ring you up in a few days to arrange for an appointment. Would that be alright with you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Alright then, I guess that settles everything!” Doctor Rafael clasped his hands together and stood up to shake Nkululeko’s hand, “thank you both for your time. Congratulations for your successful second delivery. I wish you both all the best. Doctor Nadim will escort you downstairs now, for your daughter’s PE.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.” Nkululeko said.

“You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth, I think the both of you should be very proud of yourselves.” Doctor Rafael remarked pointedly. 

For a moment, Nkululeko and his wife just stared at each other.

“Why?” They both asked.

Doctor Rafael grinned.

“ _Because_ , Mr. and Mrs. Nkululeko, there’s a very good chance that you two might’ve just produced the greatest child prodigy this world has ever seen.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 11.23AM, 23 rd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Ground Level, Administrative Lobby, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa**

_“One. Two. Six. Seven. Counter. Five.”_

The robotic voice from the Electronic Queue Management system resonated through the entire lobby.

Startled, Aurora glanced up at the large display screen above Counter 5, where red words flashed and blinked repeatedly:

COUNTER 5

NOW SERVING: 1267

A second later, the robotic voice droned on again.

_“One. Two. Six. Seven. Counter. Five.”_

Aurora felt the baby shift in her arms. She glanced down, and was met with a pair of sharp, blue eyes.

_She really does have my eyes._

It had been a strange couple of days for Aurora. Beginning with yesterday afternoon’s shock, when her water suddenly broke while she was driving her eldest son to the planetarium. Back there, she had panicked. Her mind had immediately feared the worst. She had been so sure, that something must have gone wrong with her pregnancy, since she wasn’t supposed to be in labor at least until another 7 weeks. She had thought that they’d lose the baby for sure.

But thank God for her eldest son and his quick thinking.

Because of Themba’s actions, both she and her daughter had survived yesterday’s ordeal.

And as if yesterday’s incident weren’t shocking enough, today, they’d even found out that their baby might be in possession of a super brain. A super brain. One that was five to six _years_ ahead of a normal infant.

Going through all _this,_ in just two days.

She was still having much trouble believing any of it to be honest.

Had they really just created a prodigious child? Had they really just placed a crown jewel on the top pile of humanity’s gene pool? Were they even ready, or qualified, to raise a child prodigy? What challenges and difficulties lay ahead?

What if they failed their daughter?

Would Adanna be able to lead a happy life at all? They say with great power comes great responsibilities. What if Adanna’s superior intellect brings her sorrow instead of happiness?

Aurora felt a sudden tug on the strings of her blue hospital gown. She glanced down, and saw Adanna fingering the diamond patterns on the flimsy fabric. For a moment, Aurora really wondered about all the amazing cognitive abilities her Adanna was already capable of at just barely 2 days of age. Could her baby girl already comprehend geometric concepts? Could she already understand languages? What about emotions? Could she already perform arithmetic? What would she grow up to become, say, ten or twenty years down the road?

None of those things were certain at this point. But she did know one thing. Aurora knew, that only great things awaited this little girl-wonder in her arms.

Aurora let out a wistful sigh and turned to her husband seated on her left.

“What number are we?” She asked.

“One two six eight.” He said, showing her the ticket he’d obtained from the ticket kiosk ten minutes ago.

_One more to go._

The ground floor’s lobby was quiet and leisurely. Except for the few lonely souls lingering around in the pharmacy area, the entire floor was pretty much unoccupied. Which was a good thing, they really didn’t need any more ruckus to taint their day.

Adanna’s physical examinations turned out fine. All tests indicated Adanna to be in perfect health. Her weight was healthy. Her heart rate was normal. Her skin color looks perfect. Her head circumference was satisfactory, albeit slightly larger than the norm. All in all, Doctor Nadim was happy with the test results. Once again, he’d told them that there were no major concerns whatsoever regarding Adanna’s physical health, and that she was expected to grow up physically healthy. However, Doctor Nadim did suggest to move Adanna into a special ward where she could be monitored more closely. A precautionary measure, was what he’d told them regarding the purpose of the arrangement.

In other words, they’d no longer be staying at Room 817 after this.

Which was also why they were here now, waiting for their turn at the administrative lobby to take care of all the paperwork relevant to the room transfer.

“How much more time till your maternity leave ends?” Her husband’s question brought her mind back.

“About 2 more weeks. Though they could call me in anytime if there’s a problem.”

“Is that necessary? Surely the mine could survive a week or two without its top physicist?”

And oh, she was the leading geophysicist at the nation’s largest vibranium mine, by the way.

“It could. But I’d still like to know if there’re any problems. That mine is Wakanda’s heart and soul, honey. It can’t afford any problems.”

“Always such a workaholic.” Her husband grumbled.

She smiled.

“Thought I’d warned you about that when you proposed.”

“You’re right. I don’t know _what_ came over me.”

At the jibe, she slapped her husband’s arm playfully.

“I don’t think I know how to do this …” Her husband’s said tiredly.

Knowing what he meant, she sighed. She had the same doubts too.

“I’m not sure how we’re able to raise a super genius, Aurora.”

She felt something twist in her stomach. It was the way he’d said it. That total lack of conviction in his voice. It nearly undid her.

She reached over and grabbed her husband’s hand.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Together?” He asked hopefully.

She nodded.

“Together.”

_“One. Two. Six. Eight. Counter. Five.”_

The announcement ended their brief moment.

“That’s us.” Her husband released her hand and stood up, “Wait here? Or do you want to head upstairs first?”

“No. I think we’ll wait here. We still don’t know which room they’ll give us yet.”

_“One. Two. Six. Eight. Counter. Five.”_

The mechanical voice chimed again.

“Alright. I’ll get this done as fast as I can. Then we can head up.”

With that, her husband turned and headed for the counter.

She leaned back in her seat, trying to relax. Her back was still a little sore after yesterday’s ordeal. And she’d totally kill for a nap once they were settled in their new room. From the background, she thought she heard the distant wails of sirens. Probably an ambulance. They were in the largest hospital facility in Wakanda after all.

She eyed the leaving form of her husband, and then shifted her gaze to little Adanna in her arms.

Aurora took a deep breath.

So they were really doing this. They were going to be parents of a super prodigy. There were a lot of uncertainties there, though she was gonna give it her absolute best. She was damn sure of that. Maybe in a few weeks, they could begin teaching Adanna how to speak Xhosa, their native language. Maybe after a month, Adanna could even start learning English. And then arithmetic. Geometry. Algebra. Trigonometry. Calculus. All _sorts_ of wonderful things that Adanna’s brain would undoubtedly absorb like a giant sponge.

And God knows what Adanna could already be doing by the time she was _physically_ 5 years old…

Quantum Field Theory? Geometric topology? String theo-

SCREECH!!!

She heard a loud, high-pitched, abrasive, and ear-piercing noise. Unmistakably the sound of rubber rubbing against solid ground.

Tires.

Tires. Of an ambulance. 

The sirens were now in full blast. Positively blaring. So loud that it was almost as if she was standing right beside the ambulance itself. And from her seat, Aurora could also hear people shouting right outside the hospital’s main entrance. Like some kind of commotion. A ruckus.

Soon enough, a loud bang was heard from her right. She turned, and saw the doors leading to the ER burst open. A team of nurses and medical officers came rushing out from said door.

She felt a gust of breeze as one of the junior officers hurried past where Aurora sat.

CLINK.

Aurora dropped her gaze, and saw a stethoscope on the floor by her feet.

_Must’ve fallen off the neck of that officer who’d rushed past just now._

Aurora picked up the device and strode towards the hospital entrance, where the officer was running towards.

“Excuse me!!” Aurora shouted at the officer.

The lady turned back.

“Yes?”

“You dropped this.” Aurora held out the stethoscope.

The medical officer reached up to her neck, surprised to find the device missing, but was clearly relieved to see it in Aurora’s hand.

With a quick thanks, the officer took the device and turned around, preparing to charge full speed towards the main entrance. Though she didn’t really have to, since the cause of the ruckus was already being wheeled past the sliding door. It was a huge stretcher headed towards the ER. 

The officer took off immediately.

And Aurora was left in a state of utter shock.

Because lying on that stretcher was the most terrifying sight she’d ever seen.

It was a man. Or what _used_ to be a man, because from what she saw, whatever that was lying on that stretcher didn’t even look human _._

There was blood was everywhere. On the sheets. On the floor. On the wheels of that stretcher. On the paramedics’ uniforms. Everywhere.

Amidst her stupor, she thought she heard someone yelling something about third degree burns, and about preparing the OR, and perhaps also something about getting the life support ready. Whatever it was, she couldn’t really tell. Because at that moment, all she could focus on was that…horrendous _heap_ of red, white, yellow and…and _black_ , lying facelessly on that stretcher.

Something shifted in her arms.

Adanna began to cry.

“Shh…shh…” Aurora rocked on her feet and cooed, quickly turning away from the scene.

With her hands, she covered Adanna’s eyes and ears, and began walking back as fast as she could towards her seat.

Her husband was already walking up towards her.

“What’s wrong? Why’s she crying?” He asked.

She nodded in the direction where the stretcher was now being wheeled towards, the ER.

Her spouse followed her gaze and immediately flinched at what he saw.

And for a moment they both stood there, watching, as the stretcher disappear into the hallway, into whatever horrors that awaited the man it carried.

Being a woman of science, Aurora never was particularly religious. But right at that moment, with her brain addled by the weight of what they’d just witnessed, she couldn’t help but murmur a silent prayer; a silent plea for the ears of whatever Deity that might exist; a silent plea, to save the man’s life or at the very least, to ease the man’s suffering before death.

From the corner of her eye, she saw her husband shaking his head.

“Poor man.” He whispered.

She said nothing.

There could be no words to describe the scene they’d just witnessed.

Admittedly, it was only through things like these, that people will finally take the initiative to re-evaluate their lives, to re-adjust their priorities. Seeing things like these makes people realize just how fragile and how _precious_ life truly was; and that everyone should live their lives to the fullest, treating every moment in life like as if it was the last.

Hence, right then, amidst the chaos, amidst all the horrors of death, amidst the wailing of the young life in her arms, Aurora came to a resolve. She decided that from then on, she was only gonna live for the things that truly mattered to her.

“I’m extending my maternity leave.” She said, hoping to convey her resolve through her words and her actions.

Her husband looked at her with understanding in his eyes.

And then she felt a warm arm drape over her shoulders. The familiar weight of that arm reminded her of home.

“Let’s go upstairs.” He said.

They walked away.

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 4.21PM, 23 rd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Level 8, Obstetrics/Gynecology, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa**

“Doctor Nadim! Doctor Nadim!”

From where he stood in front of the reception’s counter, Nadim turned to the source of the voice.

“Yes?” He asked the plump nurse that was scrambling towards him.

And so uttered the words that every doctor dreads.

“We have a situation…”

“What situation?”

“It’s one of your patients. The special case.”

His blood ran cold.

_Adanna._

“Let’s go.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 4.30PM, 23 rd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Level 8, Intermediate Care Maternity Ward, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa**

“Nurse. I’ll take it from here.” Nadim said the moment he entered the room.

“When did this start?” He then asked, raising his voice slightly over the baby’s loud wailing.

A very anxious Mrs. Nkululeko began to explain.

“She started crying around noon…We managed to put her to sleep for a couple of hours… but she woke up half an hour ago and started crying again. And then she starts vomiting…”

“Vomiting? How many times?”

“Um…” Mrs. Nkululeko hesitated, and then turned to her husband for help.

“Four. Yes, four times.”

“ _Four_ times? In half an hour?” Nadim asked.

_This doesn’t look good at all._

“What’s happening to her, doctor?” asked the mother.

“She was fine just this morning, right? Why’s this happening all of a sudden?” This time it was the father.

Nadim sighed.

Now this was the hard part where he was obliged to ask the folks to leave the room. Standard protocol.

“Alright. Mr. and Mrs. Nkululeko, I need you both to take a breath, calm down, and wait outside. We’ll do everything we can to find out what’s wrong, but we’ll also need some space to work. Nurse!!” Nadim shouted at the young intern standing beside the crib.

“Escort them to my office, please? Make sure somebody stays with them. And get them whatever they might need.” Nadim ordered.

“Understood.” The intern nodded before turning to the distraught couple, “Sir, Ma’am. This way please?”

“Do not worry.” Nadim told the parents, “Everything’s under control. We’ll run some tests first and then we’ll let you both know.”

Another nurse walked in right after the parents left.

“Close the door.” Nadim ordered as he pulled out his stethoscope.

“Give me her vitals.” He ordered the nurse and pressed his stethoscope against the baby’s chest.

“Tachycardia. And her BP’s way too high.” The nurse reported back.

“Check blood hydration levels.” Nadim ordered without looking up.

“Normal.”

 _That rules out dehydration, then._ He thought.

Could it be the heart?

At the thought, he abandoned the stethoscope and began checking the baby’s skin.

“Cardiac?” Asked the nurse.

“Unlikely. Her skin isn’t bluish. Besides, PE rules out any heart defects.”

He picked up the stethoscope again and listened.

Tachycardia confirmed. Her heartbeat was way too fast.

He pressed the device to the baby’s right chest.

_Slight wheezing. Rapid breathing. Shortness of breath._

Lung inflammation? Pneumonia?

It _was_ an established fact after all, that premature babies have higher risks of contracting pneumonia due to their possibly underdeveloped lungs.

But, no, Adanna’s lungs were well-developed and healthy according to her x-rays.

Strange.

He pulled away and examined the baby’s nose.

_Nasal flaring too._

Another symptom of pneumonia.

“Body temperature?” Nadim asked.

“Normal.” Replied the nurse.

For a moment, Nadim appeared taken aback. His brows pulled into a frown. “No fever?”

“No.” The nurse pointed at the screen.

37 degrees Celsius.

What on earth?

Nadim shook his head. No immune response? How could this be?

“If it’s pneumonia, or if it’s some kind of infection, then she _should_ be having a fever.”

Once again, Nadim stared at the baby’s form and rattled off his observations, “Paleness of skin…slight trembling at the limbs…shivers… clear signs of retractions…seizure-like spasms…”

“Doctor! She’s vomiting again!” The nurse shouted and sprang into action, tilting the baby’s body to the side to prevent her from choking.

_Come on, Adanna… what’s going on with you?_

With his penlight, he examined the baby’s eyes.

_Pupils are responding normally._

“Doctor…I think she’s getting worse…What do we do?”

Data. He needed more conclusive data. He couldn’t risk this special child’s life on mere conjectures or speculations.

“Prepare a heel stick. And have her blood and sputum samples sent down to the lab immediately. I want those test results within an hour. We can’t rule out the possibility of an infection or pneumonia at the moment. Maybe the fever just hasn’t started yet.”

“Understood.”

“Also conduct pulse oximetry and an arterial blood gas test. I want to know her blood O2 and CO2 levels.”

“But what do we do about the baby? We can’t leave her like this.”

“Put her to sleep. Get her an IV drip, we need to keep her hydrated. And have someone monitor her vitals at all times. Until we figure out what’s wrong with her, we can’t leave her unwatched.”

“Right away, sir.” The nurse went to work.

Nadim pressed the emergency call button.

Seconds later, another nurse bustled in.

“Call radiology.” Nkululeko ordered, “Ask them to prepare for an x-ray. Oh, and get Rafael up here.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 5.45PM, 23 rd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Level 16, Department of Radiology, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda**

Nadim pushed open the door and allowed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the room’s blue lighting.

Right at the edge of the room, he noticed Doctor Rafael, who was standing in front of a huge row of x-ray illuminators.

“How do the x-rays look?”

Rafael stood unmovingly on his spot.

“Whatever it is, Nadim, I don’t think it’s her lungs. She’s got perfectly healthy lungs.”

Nadim said, “Yeah, well, that _should_ be the case. Because I’ve got the blood work right here. It shows normal ESR. Which rules out any forms of inflammation and infection.”

“What about sputum?”

“Normal.”

Rafael sighed, “Another dead end.”

“Blood O2 and CO2 looks pretty normal too.” Nadim said, running his hand over his forehead.

Rafael reached forward and took down the x-ray images, “How are the parents doing?”

“The father left fifteen minutes ago. Son finishes school a bit later today, apparently. The mother’s still in my office.”

“And the baby?”

“Still sedated.”

Doctor Rafael sighed, “None of this makes sense.”

“Actually it kinda does.” Nadim said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve done all the tests, right? And there aren’t any contradictions so far. For example, even now, the baby wasn’t experiencing any fevers at all. Her body’s total lack of immune response corresponds appropriately with all our test results which indicate no infections whatsoever. So maybe it really has nothing to do with pathogens.”

“Have we covered all bases?”

“Well, I think we did.”

For a moment, Doctor Rafael seemed to be mulling over something.

“Actually, Nadim. We haven’t.”

“What else haven’t we covered?”

“What if it’s psychological?” Doctor Rafael suggested.

Nadim’s eyes widened, “You mean…”

“Let’s run over the symptoms again…” Rafael said.

“Sure…uh.” Nadim took out the notes he’d taken before, “There’s been a lot of nausea and vomiting according to the parents. There’s tachycardia, abnormally high BP, shortness of breath, signs of retractions, pale skin, shivering and trembling of limbs-”

“Doesn’t that ring any bells?” Rafael prompted.

Nadim snapped his fingers, “Anxiety. Some kind of panic disorder.”

Rafael nodded, “A panic attack…” He rubbed his chin, “It all fits. But what triggered it…?” Rafael paused for a brief moment, “Do you think it’s separation anxiety?”

Nadim shook his head, “No. Can’t be. Both parents were there when this happened.”

“Hmm.” Rafael hummed, still rubbing his chin, “What if…what if it’s the surrounding? Maybe something in her environment triggered it?”

Nadim pondered for moment before he nodded, “Well, it’d certainly make sense. I mean the kid’s got a super brain, right? By now, her mind’s already capable of processing complex visual and auditory stimuli. Maybe she’s seen or heard something over the past few hours that her mind doesn’t like. A psychological trauma, perhaps?”

Rafael nodded, “And those panic-like symptoms are just her body’s responses towards the trauma…”

“Or worse, she could’ve already developed some kind of phobia by now.” Nadim added grimly.

“We need to find out what it is. We need to find out what she’s afraid of.”

“Agreed. Well, we’ll have to step on it though, because the kid’s gonna wake up in about 15 minutes.”

“I can probably have the fMRI machine ready by then.” Rafael said.

Nadim nodded, “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll head down and notify the parents.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 9.23PM, 23 rd November 2004 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Level 8, Obstetrics/Gynecology, Wakandan Health Institute, Central Wakanda, Africa**

“WHAT???!!”

Nkululeko couldn’t believe his ears.

His daughter had _what_ now _?_

“Nosocomephobia.” repeated Doctor Nadim.

“It’s a mental condition where a person displays a pathological aversion or fear towards hospitals.” Doctor Rafael explained sympathetically.

Nkululeko slumped backwards against his seat.

“Are you sure?” Aurora asked, both hands pressed tightly against her chest.

“Absolutely positive.” Doctor Nadim pressed his lips into a grim line, “We’ve done all kinds of tests. Her symptoms vanished after we’ve placed a blindfold over her eyes. But once the blindfold was off, the symptoms came back immediately. We’ve even introduced her into a new environment to see how her body responds to the change. For instance, we brought her into the hospital locker room, a place with minimal resemblance to a hospital environment, and the symptoms stopped, immediately.”

Doctor Rafael steepled his fingers, “In other words, it seems that your daughter exhibits fear-like behaviors towards any environment that is visually or auditorily similar to a hospital.”

“And we even have the fMRI results to verify that.” Doctor Nadim pulled out a huge sheet of color-printed paper and placed it on the desk, “your daughter’s amygdala,” he pointed on a bright red region on the paper, “appeared _overly_ active whenever her brain receives stimuli that it interprets as being associated with hospitals.”

“But how? She wasn’t even like that this morning, or last night.” Nkululeko questioned in a tone of mild dread. Dread, for whatever that was in store for his daughter in the near future. If so much could go wrong in just over one day, what more say ten, or twenty years down the road?

What were the odds of Adanna even _making_ it into adulthood?

For a moment, the two doctors stared at each other. And the room went eerily silent.

The staring match persisted for quite a while until Doctor Rafael threw something akin to a nod of assent to Doctor Nadim.

“Mr. Nkululeko…”Doctor Nadim began slowly, seeming to be carefully choosing his words, “We…believe that your daughter might’ve seen or heard something traumatizing over the past few hours.”

All of a sudden, Aurora gasped, sharply.

“Oh my _God_!” Aurora screamed.

That scream, laced with so much pain and anguish, really struck a chord with Nkululeko. 

Nkululeko inched closer to his wife and wrapped an arm around her, “We’ll get through this, honey. It’s gonna be alright.”

Nkululeko felt his arm being pushed away sharply instead.

Aurora shouted, “No, it’s _not_!!! This is all my fault!”

“What?” Nkululeko bristled, “Don’t be ridiculous. How’s this your fault. You didn’t even do anything…”

“God. Don’t you see? Can’t you see that she’s like this precisely _because_ I didn’t do anything?!”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, brows pulled taut into a frown.

Aurora took a calming breath, “Remember that man we saw before? Back on the ground floor?”

“Ground floor? Whe-”

Nkululeko felt his heart stop as understanding dawned upon him.

That man.

That man with the horrible burns.

“It’s all on me.” Aurora continued her rant, “I should’ve closed her eyes, cover her ears. I should’ve done something!”

“Aurora…stop.” Nkululeko said weakly.

From their left, Nkululeko saw Doctor Nadim passing a box of tissue to Aurora.

“Look…Neither of you could’ve known…” said Doctor Rafael when Aurora seemed to have calmed down, his tone resigned.

“Even us,” Doctor Rafael gestured to Doctor Nadim and himself, “the doctors in charge, hadn’t been able to anticipate this turn of events.” He remarked, a little bit regrettably.

Nkululeko sighed before turning to Aurora, “You okay?” He asked.

Aurora nodded faintly.

“Is it permanent? Will she be able to recover?” The distraught woman asked in between sniffs.

“With proper treatment, yes, it is possible.”

“What’s our best option?” Nkululeko asked while Aurora blew her nose.

“Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Saturday, 4.30AM, 22 nd November 2008 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Lot 26, Wakandan Residential Area, Zone G, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

She wondered what it’d be, this year.

Would it be something big? Would it be heavy? Would it come with buttons? Would it be fun? What color would it be in?

A book. Would it be another book?

She wouldn’t mind a book. She totally loved books. Books were her favorite.

At her excited thoughts, the little girl let loose a series of giggles. For the umpteenth time, she rolled her tiny form over in her 27 by 52 inch bed. Clearly, sleep was a lost cause tonight. 

It was one of those nights again.

Yep. **_Those._**

Those ceiling-gazing-relentless-eye-blinking nights, wherein her mind would roleplay Mr. Tom and challenge Mr. Jerry Sleep to an epic game of ‘cat and mouse’. Not to say that she was completely averse to nights like these. There _were,_ in fact, times when she kinda loved them. But only when they turned out to be productive nights. Otherwise, she hated sleepless nights. Because she’d always feel like she’d been ran over by a truck the next day. Something that she had already begun feeling right then, at four-thirty in the morning.

Still.

She wondered what she would get this year.

Last year, it was a computer. A laptop computer. A sleek, black, Dell Latitude D600 with a state-of-the-art Pentium M 1.4Ghz chip and a sweet 2GB worth of RAM; specs that would have her fingers twitching just by thinking about it. She’d really come to love that device. She loved the springy feel of the keyboard buttons whenever they received pressure from her tiny fingers. Adored the snappy clicking sound of the click-pad or the smooth feel of the touch pad under her skin. Even the stylish Ubuntu boot logo she’d was immensely dear to her; that orange, circular, rotating ring. So beautiful, and elegant. Such mesmerizing a logo that she could totally stare at forever.

She loved her Dell.

It was beautiful, and powerful, and had become her wingman (wing-thing, really) in her quest of everlasting curiosity. It was the first thing she’d turn to whenever she had questions. Questions about the Universe. About people. About life. About anything. 

What is an integral?

Why do magnets attract each other?

Why is the sky blue?

Will fish die if lighting strikes the ocean?

Why is the Earth round?

Who is Albert Einstein?

Who made that giant statue of a naked man sitting with his chin on his fist?

How were pyramids made?

Who was that stars-and-stripes man with the bouncy shield?

Why are tomatoes red?

Where do humans come from?

Why can’t animals talk?

Where did the moon come from?

So many questions in need of answers. And thank goodness she had her Dell. Other kids had only picture books. She really felt sorry for those kids. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how dull her life would be without her Dell. Ever since her parents gave it to her, it had become such a dear friend, and a beautiful companion. As long as she had her Dell, she’d never be bored. Her beautiful friend always kept good company.

Not tonight, apparently.  

Tonight, said beauty was lying over there, idly, on her desk. In sleep mode.

The little girl snickered.

She supposed it was a little bit funny that even the laptop was getting more sleep tonight than her. And it wasn’t even human.

She wondered what that’d make her.

A drone? A humanoid?

Perhaps not.

Just a little girl with an eternally noisy brain.

Or maybe just a little girl who was overly excited about what birthday gifts she would be having this year.

Although she (just like what she’d done the previous years) would gladly savor whatever that was given to her without much grievance, she had secretly wished for a puzzle box this year. Like those pretty little boxes she had seen her brother playing with last month. Or maybe she could have one of those 119-step Japanese puzzle boxes she had read so much about on the Internet. Hmm. Yeah. She’d definitely like one of those. Bet that could top the Rubik’s cube she’d received last, _last_ year when she was 2.

But then again, pretty much _anything_ could top the Rubik’s cube. Because, seriously, that cube was just too _easy._ She had cracked it (figuratively) in two days. And after that, she had even shamelessly gone up to her Baba to ask for another something-something-that-is-more-challenging-than-the-colorful-cube. Guess she should really thank the laws of physics for her talents of persuasion, because she had found a hardcover copy of Peter Godfrey-Smith’s ‘Theory and Reality: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Sciences’ inside her desk drawer the very next morning.

Sneaky Baba. Always knowing how to put things into her desk drawers without her noticing. Sadly, she had yet to figure out how her father does that. One of life’s greatest mysteries indeed, one that remained unanswered even by her Dell and Google.

And oh, how she _adored_ that book!! At least, it was worthy enough of a challenge to take one full month of her time. She liked this Peter Godfrey-Smith guy, really. Totally enjoyed the way he had made so much sense in that book. So much more sense compared to what she’d been seeing on TV these days anyway.

Okay. Look. She’d _tried._ She’d really, _really_ tried to ‘enjoy’ watching TV. But try as she might, she just couldn’t find it in herself to be interested in a talking yellow ostrich or a red, hairy whatsit with the orange spherical nose.

Nope.

Not a smidge interested.

Not even after she had found out that, apparently, like herself, the red one really loved cookies. Or, wait, was that the blue one…? Hmm.

See? Not interested.

Although she did find her Mama’s reaction just a tad bit amusing when she had told her that the red, hairy monster from TV had an orange for its nose. Her Mama (who probably had a bad work day that evening) had then thrown her a strange look and tried to correct her:

_“Ada… It has an orange- **colored** nose. It doesn’t have an **orange** for its nose. A nose is a nose. An orange is an orange. How can an orange be a nose?”_

Naturally, being the excited child that she was, she had protested and argued back:

_“But Mama! Just look at it! It has a nose that’s orange-colored **and** spherical. An orange **IS** orange-colored and spherical!”_

What happened afterwards was highly amusing. And rather confusing too, if she was honest. Because her Mama had laughed so hard at what she had said to the point of choking. And honestly, even until this day, she still couldn’t understand what was so funny in her little tongue-in-cheek retort that day. In the end, she had chalked it up as another one of life’s many mysteries.

People would call her names. They thought they were being subtle, but she knew. She always knew. Knew about the sort of labels that people would try to put on her.

At first, she didn’t understand why people would want to give her names. Why would people give her more names when she already had one? She didn’t need another name! She already had one! Adanna. That was her name. Why couldn’t people just use that? Why did people enjoy throwing out names so much? And wouldn’t it be confusing if people had more than one name? No matter how hard she had wrecked her brain over it, she just couldn’t understand it.

And then when she’d gone up to her Baba and asked him for an explanation, he’d told her that people were just being mean to her, and that she should just ignore them. She sat on that answer for a few days, and only then she realized that her Baba was right (he usually was)! People _were_ being mean to her. 

But she still couldn’t understand!

If people were being mean to her, wouldn’t it mean that people disliked her?

But why?

Why did people dislike her so much?

What did she **_ever_** do to them?

Why did people always have an axe to grind whenever she had opened her mouth to say something?

Why?

That silly boy next door, for one.

Or that grumpy old cat-lady a few blocks down.

Or that group of pretty girls who (for some reasons she couldn’t yet fathom) kept dropping by the house just to pester her for more ‘information’ about her older brother. _Really_? If they wanted to know more about her brother, wouldn’t it make more sense to just ask **_him_** directly? What **_was_** the point in asking **_her_**? Well. Too bad she never really got to the bottom of that puzzle either. Clearly _another_ one of life’s unending mysteries.

Those people.

They all call her names.

Baby cynic. Wet-blanket. Intellectual snob. Know-it-all baby. Little Einstein-Wannabe in diapers.

Almost as if people just hated her. It was like she’d done something wrong just by _being_.

Was her existence offensive?

Did people hate the way in which she was born in? Maybe they did. Maybe that was why people were mean to her. Well, ex ** _cuse_** her for being born this way? Did she have any say in the way she was to be molded at birth? Uh… _Hello?_ NO.

She was just _different_. _Different._ Not evil. Just different. Her Mama had even told her all the time that she was _special._ Yeah. _Special_ (take that, haters). So what if people weren’t happy about it? Why blame her, or call her names? They could always just take it up to the laws of physics if they had any problems with the way she was born in? Or blame the laws of probability which governed the random genetic mutations that had given rise to her ‘specialty’. Why blame her? Why blame her for something that she obviously had no control over?

**Why hate her just because she was different?**

Speaking of differences and specialties…

She’d often wondered. Wondered about the reason she was so different than the other kids.

She’d ask questions.

A lot of questions.

Questions about herself.

Why was she already capable of speaking fluent Xhosa just one month after she was born? How was it that she was able to master the English language by the time she was only 6 months old? Why were the other kids still struggling with picture books when she was already halfway through J. Hamblin Smith’s ‘A Treatise on Arithmetic’? Why was it that people would always look at her strangely whenever she wore her diapers and spoke to them in fluent English?

Why?

She’d tried asking her parents first (sadly, her Dell wasn’t there yet during the time she had those questions). But the answers her parents gave her were almost always the same:

_“It’s because you’re special, Ada.”_

Yes, but she knew that already! Somehow, as she grew older, vague answers such as “because you’re special” or “it’s the inner workings of probabilistic laws” weren’t enough for her anymore. She wanted a deeper answer.

She wanted to know **why** and **how** she was special!

The closest she’d gotten to an answer, was during a time when Uncle Rafael came by the house. It happened a few years back, when Uncle Rafael attended her first birthday party. That day, Uncle Rafael had told her that she had a ‘super-brain’. Naturally, she’d asked him further, about what he meant by that:

_“Why is my brain super?”_

_“Are there anyone else with super brains?”_

_“Is your brain super too, Uncle Rafael?”_

She’d asked those questions.

But Uncle Rafael only smiled at her, and told her to go find out those answers on her own. Apply the scientific method, he had said to her that day.

So she did, last year, when she’d first gotten her laptop and learnt how to use the Internet. The first thing she did on the device was to seek the answers to her perpetual WHYs. She wanted to know more about her ‘specialty’. She wanted to know if there were anyone else out there who were _special_ just like her. She wanted to know.

And, it turned out that she wasn’t alone!

There were others like her too! A lot others!

Carl Friedrich Gauss, who knew his way around numbers when he was just a small child. Srinivasa Ramanujan, another numbers’ guy. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who could already play the piano at the age of 4 and who could compose his own song at the age of 5. John Von Neumann, who could multiply two 8-digit numbers in his head by the age of 6!

And those were only the dead guys!

She had also looked into the more recent-born ones who were still alive today: Anthony Edward Stark, built his own circuit board when he was 4, and a motorcycle engine when he was just 7! Bruce Banner, the one who invented his own spectrometer when he was only 5! Wow!

She’d even learned a new English term that day: prodigy.

She’d found out that the people who were special like her, were called prodigies.

A prodigy.

Now _that_ , was one label she wouldn’t mind people giving her.

In fact, she was still waiting for someone to call her a, _prodigious prodigy_ , one day.

 

*     *     *

 

CLICK! CROAK! CLICK! CROAK!

Adanna sprang up on her bed, alarmed.

She didn’t believe in ghosts. Or poltergeists. Or vampires.

She believed in physics, and probability. But that sound right there? It still creeped her out.

Unconsciously, she pulled the covers tighter around her body and crept closer to the headboard.

She heard it again. The sound of a keyhole being poked.

CLICK! CLICK! CROAK! CROAK!

And then all of a sudden, she found that she wasn’t scared anymore. Logic took helm, and expelled every ounce of her irrational fears from her system.  

 _Because there’s always a logical explanation for everything._ She told herself and smiled.

Someone was obviously testing out a bunch of keys on her bedroom door.

She glanced at the digital clock on her desk.

5.04AM.

Her smile widened as she realized that maybe the logical explanation was staring right in her face after all.

CLICK! CLICK! CROAK! CROAK!

Her smile morphed into a grin.

All these time, she never did know how her Baba did it, sneaking around, putting things into her desk drawers without her knowing it. But now, she might have just stumbled upon the solution to said mystery. And what better way to celebrate her victorious discovery than by catching her Baba right in the act!

She pushed the blanket away and slid herself noiselessly towards the bed’s edge.

As gently as she could, she planted her tiny feet on the floor, paying special attention to avoid the creaky floorboards a few inches away from the foot of the bed.

Stealthily, she tip-toed towards her bathroom, and hid behind the bathroom door.

And then she waited.

Several tries later, the lock of her bedroom door clicked open.

CREAK….

The door opened.

And in the dark, she could make out an ebony figure looming in the doorway. She watched quietly, feeling the excitement seep through her being. Adrenaline assaulted her veins.

At first, the dark figure seemed to be just lingering at the doorway. But then she realized that it was just trying to close the door quietly. So she waited some more. She stood quietly in her hiding place until she heard a faint click of her bedroom door closing.

Slowly, the figure began creeping towards her desk.

She sprang into action.

“BOO!!!”

“Aargh!!”

The dark figure gasped, and the keys dropped onto the floor in a loud clink.

“God!! Ada. You scared me.” The dark figure hissed.

Wait. She recognized that voice. And it wasn’t her father’s.

“Themba?”

A click sounded, and a second later, a cone of bluish light poured out from her desk lamp.

Her brother stood sheepishly beside her desk.

“Guess the surprise is ruined, huh?” He said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Wait. Why are you up so early?” She asked suspiciously.

“I have a flight to catch this morning, remember?” He paused, seemingly waiting for her response.

She remained as silent as a mouse.

“To New York?” Her brother tried again, his tone measured and wary.

Oh.

That.

In an instant, her mind registered something. Something that she’d been trying to ignore for a whole week.

Right. Today was _the other_ day too.

The day had come, for her 19-year old brother to leave home for college.

She said nothing.

She was gonna miss him. All the piggy back rides he would always give her. All the little puzzles and quizzes that he would always throw out to test her mind. And all the times he’d allowed her to play with his miniature solar system model in his room. Those things would come to an end today.

Because her beloved brother was leaving Wakanda.

“So I just thought I’d sneak in here and drop off your birthday gift before I leave…”

She continued ignoring him and padded towards her bed. She plopped herself right on top of her blanket, and lay as still as a vibranium beam.

“Are you sulking, Ada?” Themba asked playfully.

Still nothing.

“I’ve got presents for you…presents Ada…it could be fun…” He sing-sang, hoping to score her reaction.

She gave him zilch.

Then he went and said something completely out of the blue.

“What’s…eight thousand five hundred and forty seven times five thousand two hundred and sixty three?”

But after a while, she realized that it _wasn’t_ out of the blue. It was deliberate. Another one of her brother’s sneaky tricks to get her attention.

She wanted to ignore it. But, ugh. She couldn’t. Themba was just so smart like that, always knowing the right way to get a reaction out of her.

“Forty-four million, nine hundred eighty-two thousand, eight hundred sixty-one…” She muttered sulkily into her blanket.

“Wait, hold on a sec. Let me check…”

She smiled to herself when she heard a quiet rustling sound from her desk. Probably Themba searching for a calculator.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

There was a quick pause.

“Correct.” He said.

 _Like I care._ She thought sulkily and went back to ignoring him.

“Five thousand, six hundred, eighty-four times three thousand, one hundred, seventy-two…”

Again?

Hmph!! She was ignoring him this time.

Hmph!! Definitely ignoring him.

She wouldn’t budge.

She didn’t care.

She **_didn’t_** need to care.

Not even if it involved numbers.

Sweet little dancing numbers.

With actual digits.

Yes. Digits. Numerals.

Ugh.

Ugh!!

Cheeky Themba.

“Eighteen million, twenty-nine thousand, six hundred forty-eight…”

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

“Hmm…? Wrong!!!”

WHAT??!

This time she scooted straight up, her mouth agape. No. This couldn’t be. She couldn’t be wrong. She had _never_ EVER made an arithmetic error before. NEVER. Not even when she was doing it half-asleep, or when she did it hanging upside down from the ceiling. She _did not_ make mistakes. Her brain was just _incapable_ of mistakes. She couldn’t have been wro-

That was when she saw Themba’s mischievous I-got-you-there grin.

UGH!!!!!

“I hate you.” She grumbled and lay back down, this time facing the wall.

Seconds later, she heard a soft THUNK, like as if Themba had placed something on the floor.

_Don’t be curious. You don’t need to know. You don’t need to know. You don’t have to know._

_Go away, curiosity._

_Curiosity, curiosity, go away. Come again another day._ She recited that stupid nursery rhyme in her head.

Then she felt a sudden dip on the mattress, just inches away from her foot.

“I’m leaving today…” He said sullenly.

_Not exactly newsflash, Themba._

Her eyes stung now.

 _Tears, tears, go away. Come again another day._ Or don’t come back, ever. She hated crying. Crying was a waste of…bodily fluids.  

“And…I don’t want to leave seeing you unhappy, Ada.”

_And wasting bodily fluids it is then…_

An uncontrollable sniff escaped her. 

“Aww…Ada…Come on, don’t cry. Come here…” A nudge shook her left foot, “Come here…”

A warm palm crept up her left shoulder, and then she felt her whole body turned away from the wall. It was then that she could contain her tears no more. All birthday excitements forgone, she let out her tears. She cried and cried and cried.

Her brother was leaving.

Her brother, _leaving_. 

 

*     *     *

 

“I’ll tell you what…” Themba said after she’d calmed down.

She snuffled and snuggled into her bolster.

She was getting tired now, probably from all the unnecessary discharge of eye fluids.

“Why don’t I show you what I got for your birthday? How does that sound?” 

Birthday gifts. Yeah. Yeah, she could do that. She did this every year. Baba, Mama, and Themba, they’d present her with gifts on November 22nd every year. It was family tradition. Everyone was happy. _She_ was happy. Only, her brother wouldn’t even be around next year to do this with her anymore. And it would be the same for the next, next year. And the year following that too.

Even the family tradition would come to an end.

Tears pricked her eyes again. It felt as though someone had poured an entire conical flask of hydrochloric acid into her eye sockets.

“Hmm? Come on.” Themba nudged her shoulder gently, “Wanna see your presents?”

She supposed she could do this…one last time.

“O…Okay…”

The bed shook slightly as Themba moved around, seemingly reaching around for something on the floor beside the bed. Seconds later, he found it, pulled it up, and placed the object in front of her.

It was a rucksack. A large, bulky one.

Eventually, curiosity prevailed, and Adanna slowly sat up with her back leaning against the headboard.

She watched her brother pull something out slowly from the bag.

She could immediately tell that it was a book.

“Ta-da…” He waved the hardcover in front of her.

Squinting slightly, her eyes caught the book’s cover.

‘Elements’, by Euclid. 

Reaching forward, she took the book and flipped through the early pages. She skipped the introduction, and went straight to the first chapter.

Euclid.

She’d heard of this man before. He was Greek, and from what she heard, he was a very clever man.

She wondered if Euclid was special like her too.

Under the faint, bluish lighting of her desk lamp, she ran her eyes across the page. There were two columns in every page. The contents of the two columns were the same. Only, the left column was written in Greek while the right column was in English.

She skipped the ‘Greeky’ left column and began reading the right column. Almost immediately, she felt herself being lured into the beautiful and elegant Euclidean universe, a world where sound logic prevailed. A world filled with so much potential, and logical consistency, and **_abstractions_** _._

_ELEMENTS BOOK 1_

_Fundamentals of Plane Geometry Involving Straight-Lines_  
_DEFINITIONS:_  
_1) A point is that of which there is no part._  
_2) And a line is a length without breadth._  
_3) And the extremities of a line are points._  
_4) A straight line is (any) one which lies evenly with points on itself._  
_5) And a surface is that which has length and breadth only.  
_ _6) And the extremities of a surface are lin-_

“Well? Do you like it?” Themba interrupted.

She looked up, and saw her brother studying her.

She closed the book with a thud and nodded gingerly.

Themba sighed.

“You don’t seem too happy…”

_Because I’m sad that you’re leaving._

All of a sudden, his face morphed into a smile.

“But…” Themba said, and he reached into the rucksack once again, “I bet **_this_** ,” From the bag, he pulled out something bulky, something akin to a large cuboid, “would cheer you up.”

She gasped.

OH NO. NO, HE DIDN’T.

HE. DID. NOT.

How did he even know?

She’d never even told anyone about it before.

He couldn’t have known.

He _couldn’t_ have.

“Surprise!” Themba said, altogether sounding way too satisfied with himself. Not unfittingly, considering the look of pure shock plastered on her own face right then.

Because, right there, sitting on Themba's outstretched hands, was that 119-step Japanese puzzle box that she’d secretly wanted for months.

“How did yo-”

Then it hit her.

Because there’s _always_ a logical explanation for everything.

“You peeked at my browser history!!!” She half shouted, causing Themba to wave his hands in a be-quiet gesture.

“Shh.” He pressed his finger on his lips, “Baba and Mama are still asleep. And yes, I accessed your browser history.” She saw her brother’s mirthful eyes glinting in the dark, “Gee. Nobody can really hide anything from my genius baby sister, can they?”

“Don’t call me a baby.”

“But you _are_ a baby, **baby**.”

“A baby can’t multiply two 4-digit numbers together in her head.” She said dryly.

“No. But my genius baby sister can.”

“Still not a baby.” She pouted.

Her brother laughed, “Whatever you say, baby sister. Here, take the box, it’s yours.”

Gleefully, she inched her little hands forward to touch the box’s surface. It felt cold.

Wait. It wasn’t even wooden.

It was metal.

Once again, her eyes flew to her brother in shock.

“Ta-da! Vibranium-made!” Themba announced proudly, a huge grin plastered on his face.

“Where did you even get this?” She asked in amazement.

“Through my high school friend. His father is an engineer who has a knack for making cool gadgets for the Wakandan military. So I downloaded a blue-print of the box’s design from the Internet and passed it to him. In the end, he followed the design and had the box custom made using vibranium instead of wood. Pretty cool, huh?”

_Cool? This is amazing!!_

The box bounced a few times on the bed, where she’d abandoned it. Abandoned it in favor of throwing herself into her big brother’s arms.

Great. Now she was gonna miss him even more.

“Happy fourth birthday, Ada.”

 

*     *     *

 

“I’m gonna miss you so much, my little baby sister.” He said when they both pulled away from each other.

She sat silently for a long while, trying to juggle this whole jungle of confusing emotions within her. Excitement due to the gifts, yet sadness due to her brother’s impending departure. All at the same time.

“Do you really have to go?” She asked tentatively.

Themba sighed wistfully, “Yes. You know I have to.”

“Why can’t you study from home? Why do you have to go to school?”

Themba laughed, and chucked her under the chin.

“Because I’m not a super genius like my little baby sister.”

A poignant silence filled the room before she broke it, “What’s the school called?”

“It’s called City College of New York.”

City College of New York…

She was going to look it up after this.

“Is it a good school?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s a good school.”

“Can I go too?”

Her brother chuckled, “Of course you can. Trust me, they would **_love_** to recruit my super genius baby sister. But you’re still too young to leave our parents’ side, I’m afraid. Maybe sometime in the future.”

She nodded.

“Will you be like Mama when you finish school?”

“Hmm…well…not really…Mama is a geophysicist. And I’ll be an astrophysicist.”

“Aren’t they the same?”

“Hmm…No. Not really, no.”

“But Mama studies rocks. And you study stars. Aren’t stars made of rocks too?”

Themba laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Oh you clever little one. But I think those are asteroids. Stars are made of gases. Well, plasmas, to be exact.”

_Note to self. Learn everything about this plasma thingy._

“Will we…will we ever talk to each other again?”

“Of course we will, silly. How about I call you on Skype every day? How’s that sound?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Does it mean that you won’t be giving me new books anymore?”

“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you let me know every time you finish a book, and then I will send a new one to you?”

“Really?”

“Of course, Ada. But you know Baba and Mama can buy you books, too, right?”

“But they are both always so busy. And I don’t want…I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

At that, Themba clucked and pinched her cheeks, “Tsk! Tsk! Now, I don’t want to hear you saying silly nonsense like that ever again, Ada. You’re _never_ a nuisance. You are the family’s jewel. Remember that.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 4:33PM, 16 th December 2008 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

7 minutes and 45 seconds.

A new record time.

Adanna lowered the puzzle box onto her desk and hit pause on the timer application of her laptop. Just under 8 minutes this time. Better than last week’s record: 10 minutes. Feeling satisfied, Adanna closed the lid of the Dell and leaned back against her chair to give her body a nice, long stretch. She was in the middle of a very deep, and teary yawn when her ears caught a familiar sound from outside her window.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

She smiled.

_The ice-cream man._

Tuesdays and Thursdays every week. At around 3:45PM.

She remembered all the times they’d missed that time window, she and her brother. Wherein they had to watch ice-cream man’s bicycle cart zoom past the house with their could-be ice creams in tow. And also how Themba would scramble down the street with his hands flailing, screaming at the top of his lungs to get the ice-cream man to stop his cart, just so they could each savor a nice scoop of ice-cream on a hot, sweltering afternoon.

She even remembered their usual flavors. Themba would take the vanilla, and she’d take strawberry.

Good times.

Dreamily, Adanna sat there with her elbows perched on her desk, wallowing in her memories.

Would she ever feel that kind of happiness again? Not to be pessimistic or anything, but honestly, her life felt pretty miserable ever since Themba left home.

How would she even survive in this world full of prejudices, and discriminations, and name-callings and sanism? How would she ever feel normal again without her brother being there to remind her of just that, and to keep her grounded? Who else would be there to patch her up whenever she falls? What if she never got back up?

Could she ever find happiness?

Looking back on all the times she’d spent with her brother, Adanna realized that all these while, he had been the one balancing out that ‘special’ aspect of her life. It was like a weight balance, with her brother standing on one side, and the rest of the world on the other. Most people only saw her as a weirdo, or as a calculating machine, or worse, as an ultra-intelligent demon sent to exterminate humanity. But her brother? He saw her as just another human being. He had whole-heartedly accepted that ‘special’ facet of her existence, and had done so without stripping away her humanity in the process. Themba understood that just because she could multiply two 7-digit numbers in her head, it didn’t mean that deep down she wasn’t just another kid, a human being with actual feelings. Her brother saw beyond her specialty, beyond her exceptional mental faculties, and treated her just like any other child who yearned for a happy childhood and love. His mere presence effectuated a sense of normalcy within her. 

Maybe she was too naïve to hope that this could last forever, or to even think that she could depend on her brother to be there for her ad infinitum. Well, she _was_ naïve, and the worst part was that she couldn’t even stop herself from being naïve. And now, how her own naiveté had crushed her. Pulverized her beyond all hope, leaving her only with fragile memories. Memories of afternoon ice-creams. Of piggy-back rides. Of random arithmetic tests. 

Memories like these? They were nothing but poignant reminders of the harshness of reality. They betoken the irreversible passage of time together with all the ramifications that follows:

Given enough time, people will grow old.

And people will leave.

People will betray.

People will sway.

People will hate.

People will change.

People will have regrets.

And when the time comes, people _will_ die. It is humanity’s destiny to fall victim to time. The Grim Reaper isn’t the messenger of Death; time is. Rather, time _is_ The Grim Reaper.

Given enough time, everything will end up in dusts. 

Nothing lasts forever. Time waits for no one. It only leaves people and their emotions behind.

While humans and their emotions remained ensnared in the past, time just… _flows._ Time _moves on,_ undeterred _._ Uncaringly. And when it does, all that remains are memories. Memories, fragments of them, they are all people have left of the past. And no matter how much people desired to go back, to relive those moments, and feel those emotions again, it could never be done.

For time is a one-way stream that never stops flowing.

That, was the harsh truth of reality. 

 

*     *     *

 

A wave of stifling afternoon heat blasted through her opened window shutters. Suddenly feeling parched, Adanna reached over for the half-filled glass of cold water which sat beside her laptop.

She also noticed her scientific calculator, lying just beside the glass. Her brother had placed it there during the morning he left, after he’d given her the little ‘arithmetic test’. She’d never use the calculator before. Frankly, she really didn’t really need a calculator in general. Her mind could crunch numbers just fine. But she hadn’t put the device away either. In fact, she had barely touched it ever since that morning on her birthday. She might not even _want_ to put it away if she was being honest. That scientific calculator sitting there at the corner of her desk….it made her feel her brother’s presence, somehow. Strange, but true.

She gulped down the glass’ contents, and deposited the empty glass onto the floor.

Forlorn, Adanna folded her hands on her desk’s surface and pressed her right cheek onto her forearms; as she would if she were taking an afternoon nap right there on her desk. Only, a nap was the last thing on her mind. She was very much awake, with her tear-brimmed eyes transfixed on the vibranium cuboid her brother had given her for her 4th birthday.

3 weeks.

It’d been more than 3 weeks since Themba left for New York. And for young Adanna, those were decidedly the loneliest 3 weeks of her life. Most of that time was spent immersed in the realm of Euclidean geometry; in the world of points and lines and planes and triangles and circles; a minimalistic place where loneliness and sorrow didn’t exist. Through Euclid, she’d found her escapism, her getaway; from the nasty, and cumbersome, maelstrom of emotions that she’d been experiencing following Themba’s departure.

It worked, to some extent.

But it still couldn’t change the fact that without her brother, her life wasn’t the same anymore. No one would be there to stand up for her, or to patch her up whenever people called her names. No one would be there to tell her silly high school anecdotes or some funny joke that high school math teachers tend to share with their classes.

Her brother was the one person who understood her the most; the one person who would treat her like a normal human being instead of some hostile, malicious, alien creature from Planet X. Her brother made her feel _normal_. He made her feel comfortable with herself by accepting her for who she was.

He was the greatest source of joy in her life.

But now he wasn’t even here.

Gone, about 7000 miles away.

And she missed him.

Despite the fact that they’d been talking to each other every day for the past 3 weeks, she still missed him. And yes, they’d talked. As promised, Themba had been video calling her every day since he left. They’d talk about his life over there in a completely foreign country. About the people there. About the American culture. About mathematics, astrophysics, and all the things that he’d be studying in his new school. And sometimes if she was lucky and that her brother had a couple of extra minutes to spare, she’d even barrage her brother with a string of curious questions, just like how she used to.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Adanna…!”

That was Aunt Halima, the nanny who would watch over her in the house whenever her parents went to work.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Adanna…! I’m coming in.”

Adanna didn’t move, not an inch.

CLICK!

“Adanna? Are you asleep?”

Not an inch, again.

“Do you want some chocolate brownies? I just made some.”

Adanna shook her head.

She felt a warm hand against on the rear side of her head, patting.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

Adanna stood up from her chair, and moved to the bed. She plopped down, and immediately went to hug her bolster.

Aunt Halima mirrored her movements, sans the bolster-hugging part.

“Aunt Halima?”

Adanna picked on a loose thread on her bolster. Seconds later, she abandoned the thread and went instead to a saliva stain on the red bolster-casing.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Aunt Halima prodded.

Adanna scratched at the circular stain a few times.

“Why was I even born?”

Aunt Halima tsk-ed.  

“Oh shush! Why are you asking questions like that?”

“If people hate me that much, wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I never existed?”

“Adanna. You listen to me carefully, okay? You were born because both your Mama and your Baba love you very, very much. And people don’t really hate you, sweetie. They are just being mean to you.”

“But why are they mean to me if they don’t hate me?”

“Because you are special, Adanna. People know that you are better, and _smarter,_ than them. That’s why they are mean to you. They did it to make _themselves_ feel better.”

“But Themba doesn’t do that.”

“Come here, sweetheart. Come here.”

Adanna relented and climbed into her nanny’s arms.

“That’s because Themba is a good man. And he loves you very much too, just like your parents.”

“Aunt Halima?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think the world would be better off without me?”

“No. Adanna. No. I don’t believe that.”

“Why?”

“Because to me, to your Mama, your Baba, and your brother, you _are_ the world. You **_are_** , our world _._ ” Aunt Halima paused for a few seconds, “And do you want to know what else I think?”

Adanna nodded.

“I think that you will accomplish great things in the future. One day, you will do great things to help build a better world. You will be…hmm… shall we say the world’s savior? Oh, no. I think there’s a better term for that. Um… Aha. A _hero_. You will be a hero.”

Aunt Halima smiled brightly at her.

“But how can you tell?”

There was a short lull as Adanna waited for a response.

“Hmm…Let’s just call it a feeling, my dear. A feeling.”

Nothing else was said for the rest of the afternoon.

But Aunt Halima’s words that afternoon were ingrained in Adanna’s mind. And it would stay with her for the rest of her life. Because those words had opened her eyes to one fact, those words were her first life lesson: that she wouldn’t have to stay a victim forever; that she could fight back and become a hero. 

A hero.

She sometimes wondered what it’d take to be one, a hero. Would being a hero be tough? Were there age limits to heroes? Were there a lot of heroes out there? If there were, then could she meet these heroes one day? How did they first become heroes? Did they also have their own Aunt Halima to tell them that they could one day be a hero?

A hero.

She could be a hero.

Someday. Somewhere. Somehow.

She could be a hero.

Now, _that,_ didn’t sound too shabby at all.

 

*     *     *

 

**Saturday, 5:30PM, 21 st March 2009 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

“Baba?”

“Yes, baby girl?”

“Why do people make sculptures?”

They were on their way home from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ Headquarters, where her Baba worked as an analyst. Her Baba had finished work around 5:15, and Adanna had followed her Mama along to pick him up from his office. It had been a long drive from home (approximately 30 minutes), since the HQ was located outside of Central Wakanda, on the other side of the Wakandan River where they had to cross the Great Bridge to get to. But despite the length of the journey and the sweltering weather, Adanna had been nothing but bubbly and exuberant throughout the entire ride. She had never driven out this far away from home before. So naturally, she was excited. And maybe a little curious.

The moment their car passed by that majestic sculpture of the Black Panther at the HQ’s main gates was when Adanna’s curiosity came to a head.

And whenever she got curious, she just _had_ to ask.

Thankfully, her Baba always seemed to have some kind of answer for her.

“Sculpturing is a form of art, Adanna. And people create art to…” From the car’s backseat, Adanna watched her father pause, seemingly mulling over his thoughts, “…well, you could say that people create art in order to…” He shrugged, “I don’t know…express themselves, maybe?” Baba turned to look at Mama, “What do you think, honey?”

From the driver’s seat, her Mama chimed in, “Oh, yes. I agree. Art is a creative form of human expression.”

A creative form of human expression…

Hmm. Interesting.

Feeling electrified by the discussion, Adanna slid between the two front seats and perched her elbows on the center console. “But what can art express?” She asked, looking back and forth between her two parents.

For a moment, her Mama took her eyes off the road and locked eyes with her Baba. Well. Her parents were doing that _weird_ thing again. It was this… _silent communication_ thing, between her parents that she still couldn’t quite get the hang of. It was like they could just talk to each other through their eyes. Maybe they were relaying Morse code or something through the blinking of their eyes.

Seconds later, her Mama smiled, “Honey, you wanna take this one?”

Her Baba shrugged, “Sure, okay.” And then he turned to Adanna, “Well, art. Munchkin. Art. Let’s see. Hmm. Well, quite a lot of things can be expressed through art, actually.”

“Like what?” said Adanna as she began slapping the center console in excited rhythms. Note to self: dig out that old set of bongo drums from the store room.

“Like emotions, for instance? Thoughts… Even ideas.” answered her Baba.

_Emotions?_

“But how can you express emotions through art, Baba?”

Her Baba chuckled and reached over to tickle her neck. Adanna flinched away in a fit of giggles.

“Now, now. You shouldn’t always be asking me for answers, why don’t you try to figure it out on your own?” He teased.

Adanna went quiet and stared out the backseat window.

 _Expressing emotions through art…_ She repeated those words in her mind with each passing Eucalyptus tree.   

The car took an exit minutes later, and they were now off the main highway. It was a beautiful evening, with the sunset looming on their left. She didn’t know why, but somehow, the tinge of orange and red made her feel…peaceful.

The colors calmed her.

A sudden thought came to Adanna’s mind.

Colors! That might be it!

Adanna sprang up from the backseat and dove to the center console. 

“Do artists pick different colors for their art depending on their moods?!” She nearly shouted.

Her father only smiled, “Now there’s my clever little girl! And yes, I think they do. Although different colors might mean different emotions to different artists, one thing for sure is that colors always mean _something_ to human beings. People often associate emotions with colors. So the artists…they would choose the colors based on what they are feeling at the time they created the art. That’s probably how emotions are conveyed through art.”

“Wait…but sculptures have only one color…they’re always grey…” Adanna mulled.

“Oh, you can paint sculptures too, sweetie.” Her mother piped in from the driver’s seat.

“Hmm. That’s right. And they can be sculpted from wax, too. In fact, those painted ones are often done in wax.” This time, it was her father.

“Mama…? Baba…?” Adanna drawled. She seemed almost distrait, with a faraway look in her eyes, like as if she was deep in thought.  

“Yes, sweetie?” Both her parents said together.

“Why do people express themselves through art? Couldn’t they just… talk?”

Her Mama answered, “Sweetheart, there are many ways for people to express themselves. Some ways are more direct and straight-forward than the others. Talking, as you know, is just our way of expressing ourselves through spoken words, correct?”

Adanna nodded but she kept quiet, waiting for her Mama to elaborate.

“Okay. So speaking is very straight-forward, isn’t it? If you have something to say, you just say it out. It is straight-forward and direct. But sometimes, by communicating in a more…subtle and…indirect way like what the artists are doing with their arts, things get a little bit more interesting.”

Adanna pondered her Mama’s words.

“Because it keeps people guessing?” Adanna asked a few seconds later.

“Mmm hmm.” Her Mama hummed and paused, “You know how you always find Math to be fun, sweetie?”

Adanna nodded.

“And you always find the process of exploring the unknown exciting, isn’t it not?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“So, you see, that same principle applies to art, too. It’s fun because there’s always a thrill in the process of uncovering the unknown. That is why behind every work of a good artist, there will always be a certain…subtlety in expression…or a mysterious aura. And I think it’s that subtlety which makes the process of understanding the artwork more meaningful to many people.”

“Meaningful……” Adanna droned and then paused for a moment, “Was Euclid an artist?”

“Hmm…maybe? If you consider solving geometric problems to be an art, then yes, you could consider Euclid an artist. Well, ‘art’ is quite a broad term, actually. It could mean the field of art itself. But it could also mean a skill or a craft. I think Euclid probably fits more to the latter category.” Her Mama answered.

Eventually, they reached the Great Bridge. It was a megastructure connecting the two sides of the Wakandan River. They had to cross the Great Bridge in order to reach Central Wakanda, which lay on the opposite side of the river.

Adanna watched as her Mama slowed the car down and waved her toll card towards the scanner. Seconds later, the barrier miraculously lifted, and then they were on their way again. Adanna often wondered how those devices work. She wondered how devices just seemed to ‘know’ what people wanted. She also wondered how information could flow from one end to another without being lost in the middle. How come these devices never get confused?

Come to think of, it was pretty much the same concept whenever she accessed the Internet, wasn’t it? She would type on the keyboard on her computer, and then somehow, the Internet just ‘knew’ what she wanted and gave her exactly the thing she was searching for.

Did the Internet work the same way?

Intrigued, Adanna made a mental note to research everything she could about computer networks when she got home. For now, the topic of art had yet to release its hold on her curiosity. 

“Are there other purposes to art?” Adanna asked when the car arrived at the other end of the bridge.

While her Mama once again busied herself with the toll card, her father took it upon himself to answer, “Oh, of course, dear. For instance, art has historical purposes too. It can be used as a form of record to help us remember past events, and also historical figures. One example is paintings, or portraits. Back when photography hadn’t been invented, most people turned to the artists to get their portraits done. Oh, and sculptures too, of course. But most sculptures were created as monuments to honor someone’s memory.”

Her mother nodded, “Those are called effigies, by the way.”

“Effigies?”

“Yes, baby girl. Effigies. They are sculptures created to resemble a person.”

Sculptures of an actual person. Interesting.

“A person…” Adanna drawled, “…like… a hero?”

Her Mama smiled, “Yes, like a hero.”

Adanna wondered if people would make a sculpture of her too, one day when she really became a hero.

“Aunt Halima once told me that I could be a hero…”

In the next instant, the car was filled the sounds of approval from her parents. And her own giggles too, since her Baba had then turned around in the passenger seat and launched a full-on tickle war on her. 

“She sure sounds like a wise lady, doesn’t she? Should we give her a raise, honey?” Her Baba commented lightheartedly.

Her Mama merely chuckled, “I think we pay her just fine, honey.”

“Who is the Black Panther?” Adanna piped in with another question.

“Ahh. The Black Panther. He is Wakanda’s protector, sweetie.” Her Mama answered.

“So he is our hero, then?”

Her Baba smiled and said, “Yes, he is Wakanda’s hero. A fierce warrior who had fought to keep our nation safe for many generations.”

“Then is he very old? How old is he?”

Her Baba laughed.

“No, munchkin. The Black Panther is just a title passed down from warrior to warrior. There were a lot of different warriors in the past who had taken up that mantle. Once a warrior gets too old, the mantle will be passed on to a younger warrior.”

“So there are more than one Black Panthers…”

“Yes.”

“What about now, Baba? Who is the current Black Panther?”

“Well…here’s the thing…We…don’t really have a Black Panther now...at least not yet.”

Adanna’s face lit up with curiosity.

“Why?” She asked.

Her Baba shrugged, “Hmm…well, let’s just say it’s because…he’s still in training.”

“In training? To become the Black Panther?”

“Yes.”

“But doesn’t that mean we already have a candidate to be the Black Panther?”

“That’s right.” Her Baba nodded.

Suddenly, Adanna tensed up as her mind conjured up a disturbing thought.

“It wouldn’t happen to be that mean boy next door, would it?” She asked tentatively.

From the driver’s seat, her Mama laughed. Though, at what, she hadn’t a clue. That happened a lot too, she realized. A lot of times her parents would just laugh at something she said when she herself hadn’t a single clue as to what was so funny about she said.

Her Baba then chucked her under the chin and ruffled her hair, “Oh, do not fret, my little munchkin. That silly boy next door would _never ever_ become the Black Panther. Not even in a million years.”

At that assurance, Adanna visibly relaxed.

“So who is it then?”

“Do you want to take a guess?”

“Umm………is it you?”

Her father guffawed almost at the same time her mother snorted.

“Me? I can barely lift a bag of rice without hurting my back!”

Adanna let loose a titter at the hilarious visual her Baba had just given her.

Her father shook his head and sighed, “Oh no, munchkin. It’s not just anyone who has what it takes to take up that mantle.”

“So he is somebody special?” Adanna asked.

“Yes, indeed. He’s very special. In fact, it is Wakanda’s Crown Prince who shall become the next Black Panther.” said her Baba.

Her Mama nodded, “And his name is T’Challa. Every Wakandan addresses him as _Prince_ T’Challa.”

“T’Challa…” Adanna repeated the name.

“Have you heard of him before?” Her Mama asked.

Adanna shook her head, “No, Mama.”

She made another mental note (she’d had a _lot_ of those these days) to look up the name later.

“Then you should look him up, dear. Because aside from being the next Black Panther, he is also the one who’s going to become the next king of Wakanda.” Her Mama remarked with a tone of reverence.

Adanna quietly filed away the information.

“Do I get to meet him one day?”

“Hmm…maybe? If you work really hard and become a really successful person, then you just might be able to meet him.” Her Mama said.

That sounded fun. Maybe she could even challenge him to a game of chess? Or ask him to try breaking her record in solving 119-step puzzle boxes (It was 6 minutes 20 seconds now, by the way). Maybe she could even ask him if he knew anything about other heroes outside Wakanda. She wondered if Prince T’Challa knew something about the big man who likes to throw the shield. 

Speaking of…

“Mama…What about that man with the bouncy shield? Is he a hero too?”

“Oh, you mean Captain America?” Her Mama commented, but not before throwing an amused glance at her Baba.

Captain America…

Yep. That’s him. She’d looked him up before. Last year, on her third birthday, when she had first gotten her laptop. There was a page on Wikipedia about the man, but then again, she hadn’t really gone through all of it in depth back then. She distinctly remembered being distracted by something else when she went into Captain America’s Wikipedia page. There was this interesting link on the Captain’s page, something about this thing called vibranium, which made her click into it. And then she had promptly forgotten about Captain America afterwards. Oops. Guess scientific curiosity beats hero-worshipping any day. Sorry, Captain America.

“Actually, sweetie, I think your father might want to answer that…because,” All of a sudden, her Mama took her eyes away from road and dropped her voice into a low whisper, “He’s a big, fat, fan…”

Adanna giggled in her seat.

Her Baba cleared his throat and smoothed out his work suit. He’d even sat up straighter in his seat.

“Yes. I’m a fan. And a proud one at that!”

“Oh, of _course_ you are.” Then her Mama turned towards her once again, “Don’t even get me started about the trading cards he’d stashed in the master bedroom’s wardrobe.”

Okay, now she was _really_ curious about this man.

“So…this famous Captain America really is a hero, then?” Adanna asked animatedly, her entire face beaming with exuberance.

However, her gusto was instantly quelled the moment her Baba opened his mouth. All of a sudden, the entire conversation took a more serious turn. A dark mood took over.

“He’s more than just a hero, Adanna. He’s like a…symbol.” Her Baba said, his tone dour.

Adanna kept quiet and absorbed those words. _A symbol?_

“What does he represent, Baba?” she asked. Just like how mathematical symbols always represent some underlying quantity or object, she thought that maybe Captain America represented something too. A symbol always represents something.

“Freedom…” Her Baba turned away and stared out the windscreen, “and protection.”

 _Protection?_ A sudden flash of understanding hit Adanna. The shield! That must be why he carries the shield. A shield symbolizes protection!

“Is that why he has the bouncy shield?” Adanna sought confirmation.

Still staring out the windshield with a faraway look, her Baba hummed noncommittally. Adanna took that response as a yes. _But wait…if he symbolizes protection…then…_

“Who was he protecting?”

“Hmm?”

“Who did Captain America protect?” she tried again.

Baba sighed heavily. There was a certain heaviness in the discussion of Captain America that Adanna couldn’t quite comprehend. Almost as if it involved something horrible. “Well…Captain America saved the world a long time ago.” he answered after a few seconds.

Her Mama let out a wistful sigh.

_Saved the world? From what?_

She tried to recall the little bits and pieces of what she’d read from that Wikipedia article last year. Instantly, one name came to mind: Nazi.

But before Adanna could say anything further, her Mama asked, “How long has it been now, honey? About 60 years? 65?”

“64.” Her Baba said quickly, as if he knew the answer by heart.

“I read from Wikipedia that he was an American soldier who fought the Nazis?” Adanna commented, though she really wasn’t that interested about who these ‘Nazis’ people were, to be honest. She was so much more interested in how Captain America had saved the world 64 years ago. If only she had her Dell with her now.   

“Yes.” Her father answered wistfully.

The car slowed down. There was a traffic light about 500 meters ahead, and everything was moving slowly due to the heavy traffic volume. On their right was the Wakandan Health Institute. A tall and sophisticated building, with many, many floors. After a quick glance, Adanna estimated it to contain roughly 50 floors in total. Indeed one of the foremost creations of Wakandan architecture. Agog, Adanna stared unendingly at the majestic building that she was born in.

Inadvertently, she was hit by a wave of nausea, followed by a chilling sensation down her spine. Now, _that,_ was also one building she could never _ever_ set foot on without her ending up having some kind of panic attack, or worse, blacking out. It happened once, the blacking out part, during Aunt Halima’s first year with them. That day, she was down with stomach flu. There was fever, nausea, diarrhea and everything. Long story short, she had been really, really sick. Naturally, Aunt Halima panicked, and had rushed her to the nearest clinic, which, of course, ended up with her hyperventilating and passing out right there in front of the clinic’s door step. And that was only the clinic! She couldn’t even imagine what’d happen to her if she actually went inside a hospital.

Her condition was known as nosocomephobia according to Uncle Rafael. He said that it was there because she’d witnessed something horrifying at the hospital on the second day she was born. What she’d seen that day gave her a deep psychological trauma. And the phobia was a manifestation of that trauma. Of course, given her curious nature, she had tried everything to remember or recall what it was that she had seen back at the hospital. But no matter how hard she tried, she still came up with nothing. Which was strange in itself, considering her eidetic memory. The explanation Uncle Rafael gave her was that her brain had suppressed the memory to protect itself. Even now, the triggering point of her phobia remained a mystery to her.

The lights turned red, and their car slowed to a stop.  

Silence pervaded the interior of the car until her Mama broke it, “Without Captain America, the world probably would’ve ended 64 years ago…”

Instantly, Adanna’s body went taut.

“End?” Adanna asked, a little fearfully. Admittedly, she was a little afraid to know how the world might ‘end’, but in the end she’d still asked. Her curiosity might really be the death of her one day.

But still.

She liked to know stuff.

Knowing stuff was fun, albeit a little scary sometimes. 

Her Mama sighed, “Yes, sweetie. The world would’ve been destroyed, most probably in a nuclear warfare, if it weren't for Captain America.”

Warfare. Yeah, she’d heard of those before. It was when people all over the world tried to kill each other. She didn’t like it. It was too cruel. And it didn’t make any sense. 

“Why do people get into wars? Why can’t people just live in peace?”

Her father picked up from there, “Because this world is full of bad people, Adanna. Very bad people. But the worst of these people turned up during the 1940s. During that time, there was a group of German fascists who wanted to take control of the world…”

 _Oh, so those must be the Nazis._ Adanna thought.

“This group, also known as the Nazi Party of Germany, wanted to expand their nation into the whole world. They wanted to make the whole world come under their rule, and they planned to do it by destroying anyone who opposed them. That was how the Second World War began, Adanna.” Her Baba shook his head grimly, “It was the most devastating war in human history.”

The lights turned green, and her Mama maneuvered the car forward.

Once again, shivers careened down Adanna’s spine. The car’s air-conditioner suddenly became a tad bit too cold.

She didn’t like wars.

She didn’t like it when people have to die.

She didn’t like death.

Her father continued in a grave tone, “Nearing the end of that war, one of the Nazi’s leaders, Johanne Schmidt, flew an airplane full of bombs towards America. That airplane was said to carry enough explosives to wipe out most of America’s major cities.”

In the back seat, shivering, Adanna conjured up images of planes dropping bombs on the poor American people. She imagined fires running all over the cities. And the ghostly silhouettes of flesh and blood, dancing amidst the undying flames; burning, wailing, and _dissipating_. She envisaged charred carcasses, strewn all over the cities’ ruins; the debris and the rubble, covered in darkened soot and unburnt organic matter.

For a moment, she wondered if she had stumbled upon the very definition of hell.

She shuddered.

And not for the first time, Adanna bemoaned the absolute _grotesquerie_ of humanity. The utter cruelty, the savagery, the evil, and the _degeneracy_ of mankind; all of it just sickened her to the core.

What _was_ it that drove these people to such an extent of wickedness?

**Was it human nature? Or just the renouncement of human nature?**

“But…did Captain America stop him?” Adanna asked. Confounded by so much darkness and evil right then, she turned to the only source of hope she could find – a hero of humanity.

Adanna watched as a sudden sadness overcame her Baba’s features.

He nodded, “Fortunately, yes. But also at the cost of his life.”

_So Captain America is dead…_

A sharp tug arose within her chest. For some reason, she truly felt sad for this man. This man, who’d sacrificed his own life to save the world. This selfless man, who had given this world a future by forsaking his own.

“Where’s he buried, Baba?”

Her father let out another sigh.

“His body is never found, sweetheart.”

Adanna’s blood ran cold.

“You mean he just…disappeared?”

Her father nodded solemnly.

“Disappeared along with the Valkyrie.”

Adanna looked at her father curiously.

_The Valkyrie?_

_Must be the name of the plane._

“Well, you see, Captain America snuck into the Valkyrie just in time to fight and defeat Johanne Schmidt. But at that time, the plane was travelling very fast. If I’m not mistaken, by the time the Captain regained control over the jet, it was already 15 minutes away from New York.”

“How do you know?”

“The Captain himself had reported the ETA based on the jet’s speed readings.” It was when Adanna had thrown him a look of utter confusion that her father clarified further, “There was a transcript of the final communications between the Captain and HYDRA’s HQ. It’s part of my job as an analyst in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to know these things. So I read the whole transcript.”

Adanna nodded. Yet something still didn’t quite add up in her mind…

“But Baba…? Couldn’t he just…land the jet somewhere safe?”

Her Baba shook his head, “No. He didn’t have any piloting experience at all back then. So he didn’t feel confident enough to land the plane without setting off the bomb.”

Adanna thought for a moment before nodding, “And even if he slowed down the jet and waited for help, eventually he would still need to find a way to land it safely…right, Baba?”

“That’s right. Besides, HYDRA was using technology far more advanced than anything the Americans knew at that time. They had no idea how the bomb functioned, or how it could be set off, or even whether if it was set to blow on a timer…The Captain couldn’t risk landing it somewhere on the ground, since they didn’t know how big the bomb’s blast radius was. He couldn’t afford to wait it out for further assistance either, because for all they know, the bomb could also be operating on a timer. Either way, he had to find the safest way to contain the blast just in case the bomb went off. And the best way to do that was to get the jet underwater…”

Adanna’s eyes widened in recognition, voice coming off only as a whisper, “So he crashed the plane…”

“Yes, he navigated Valkyrie away from New York and flew it over to the Artic. And then he plunged it into the ocean.” Her father paused and sighed, “The wreckage was never found.”

Then her Mama spoke for the first time since her long silence, “The search effort lasted for decades. I don’t think they ever stopped looking...”

“But why couldn’t they find him, Mama?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. But I wish they did. That brave and selfless young man deserves our honor.”

Honor.

They should have made a massive sculpture of him.

_Sculptures?_

A curious thought came to Adanna, “Why aren’t there sculptures of Captain America?” she thus asked.

Her Mama laughed, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sure there is one somewhere.”

_But not in Wakanda…_

Adanna wondered why.

Then, Adanna made a bold suggestion.

“What if we make one?”

Her father turned to her with one brow raised, “Oh? You’re interested in sculpting now? Getting tired of algebra already?”

Adanna blushed, but she shook her head and said, “No, Baba. I still love Math. But…I think that…Math can be applied to art, too. What if…what if I use Math to create art?”

She watched her parents share another knowing look with each other.

Did she say something wrong? God, she sure hoped not.

Her mother said, “Well, you could if you want to, my dear. But wait, does that mean that you’re interested in taking art classes now?”

Adanna shook her head, “No. I think it would be easier if I use mathematics to do it.”

Her Mama smiled proudly, “Then go on ahead, dear. Just let us know if you ever need anything.”

Adanna nodded and smiled to herself.

She was creating a sculpture of Captain America, of the man named……

Hmm. Come to think of, she didn’t even know Captain America’s real name.

“What’s Captain America’s real name, Baba?”

“Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Steve Rogers.

She would remember that name for a very long time. Probably for the rest of her life, too. And she was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with her eidetic memory.

They spent the next 5 minutes of the car ride in melancholic silence. Adanna was left to wallow in her own thoughts, and in the story about Captain America that she’d heard just now. For some reason, the mere thought of Captain America’s fate had Adanna aching inside. It was like as if the story had left a gaping hole in the fabric of her existence. It bothered her, the way this world worked, in which people just die for no good reason at all. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

Why was the world so cruel?

Why did such a good man have to die?

Why can’t everyone be good?

That way, nobody would need to kill each other.

That way, there wouldn’t be so much unnecessary deaths in this world.

That way, the world would have had one less hero to mourn. 

She wondered what Captain America’s last thoughts were during those final moments, what he must be feeling, knowing his impending death.

Was he afraid? Did he have any regrets? Did he have a family to go back to? Did he cry? Did it hurt?

Did he make any attempts at all to save himself?

For a split second, Adanna imagined herself being in Captain America’s shoes back on the Valkyrie. Would she be able to make the same choice that Captain America made?

After some thought, she realized that she actually would! Because if she could save the world and the people she cared most about by sacrificing her own life, then she would do it! She would gladly do it in a heartbeat! Without hesitation! But then she also thought about not being able to see her parents ever again, about not being able to see Themba ever again, which would most definitely be the case should she choose to sacrifice herself that way. And then she thought about dying all alone on that plane, with nobody beside her. 

It was only **_then_** that she realized just how tough of a choice that must be for the Captain. But tough as it was, the Captain had made that choice anyway! He’d made that choice, so that nobody else had to die. What an admirable man he was.  

_I see._

Finally, she understood.

She’d finally understood what made Captain America a true hero: it was the willingness to make the right choices, no matter how hard those choices might be; it was the willingness to put his own life and his own happiness on the line for the sake of others.

Adanna opened her mouth.

“Mama?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Aunt Halima said I could be a hero…”

“Mmm hmm.”

“So does that mean I can wear the Black Panther suit one day?”

Once again, the entire car exploded in her parent’s mirth, instantly defusing the melancholy from moments ago.

Adanna’s face took on a darker shade of scarlet. Okay, she supposed it _would_ be a little ridiculous if she were to put on the suit. It probably wouldn’t even fit her petite frame. Maybe she should just go back to solving equations.

Her mother answered.

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t have to wear the Panther Habit to be a hero, my dear. You could be your own hero.”

“My own hero?”

“Mmm hmm. You see, to be a hero, it doesn’t really matter what you wear, where you come from, or what your name is. None of those things matter.”

“Then what matters, Mama?”

“It is the strength of character that defines a hero, Ada.”

“The strength of character…?”

“Yes…”

“Do I have a strong character?”

Again, her parents shared a look with one another. She didn’t understand what that look meant.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?” Her father said with a smile.

“Hmm. I guess we will. But if you insist on an answer from me _now_ … then…yes, I suppose I can see you as a hero in the future, Adanna.” Said her mother.

“Why?”

“Because I know that you’ll be doing great things one day, Adanna. Really great things.”

First Aunt Halima, and now Mama.

That’s two for two already.

She really wondered what these ‘great’ things might entail.

Whatever it might be, she just hoped that they wouldn’t involve blood, death or any other gory stuff like that.

Because she kinda hated those. 

 

*     *     *

 

**Sunday, 9.30AM, 11 th October 2009 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

Those men in blue suits were at the house again.

It was the fifth time this month now.

What did they want this time? Were they here to ask to take her away again?

Creeping stealthily along the stairway, Adanna fought down a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach. Very slowly, she tip-toed. One step by one step, she approached the bottom of the stairs.

From the living room, she heard a faint voice. It belonged to one of those men, because she didn’t recognize the voice.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nkululeko. Have you considered our proposal?” The voice said.

Adanna froze. 6 more steps to go, and she’d be downstairs. She sat herself down on the stairs instead, and held her breath. The living room went eerily quiet.

All of a sudden, dread invaded her system. Apprehension swelled within her, and for a second, she thought she might actually regurgitate her breakfast. Adanna’s tiny hands gripped tightly at the iron railing. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay home, with her Baba, with her Mama, with Aunt Halima. She didn’t want to go. She was happy at home. 

But what if her parents decided to send her away? What if Baba and Mama got tired of her endless questions and curious rants? What if-

Then her father spoke, in his usual firm and calm voice.

“Indeed we have. And the answer is no.”

Relief surged through her. Unconsciously, her grip on the railing eased.

“Sir…You need to understand that your daughter is special. She needs professional care-”

Her Mama interjected, “With all due respect, gentlemen, we know how special our daughter is, and as her parents, we think that the best place for her is right here, at home, where she has the most freedom to explore and nurture her mind on her own. We’re not sending her to your school, gentlemen. That’s final.”

“Ma’am…There are trained professionals at our school who are more than qualified to nurture your daughter’s talents to the fullest. We have special programs tailored for child prodigies just like her. Trust us when we say that we have your daughter’s best interest in mind.”

Adanna had to hold back a snort at what the man said.

_Best interest?_

Apparently, homesick care was excluded from that ‘best interest’ package.

“As do we, gentlemen. But like I said, our decision is final. Please, I kindly ask you to leave.” Her Baba stated firmly.

“I don’t think you fully understand the situation here.” Said the foreign voice again, “Kids with special abilities like your daughter need special education. And we have trained professionals to do just that. Our team of professional instructors can help your daughter achieve greater heights. We just need you to sign her enrolment forms right here, and leave the rest to us-”

Her Mama let out a sigh of frustration, “Gentlemen! And I’m telling you that Adanna does perfectly fine at home. She is perfectly capable of teaching herself the things that _she_ is interested in, and the things that _she_ wants to learn. She needs the freedom to explore and to figure out what she wants, not to be sent to some institute where you people try to _mold_ her into something _you_ want her to become.”

“Miss Aurora, you’re a respected physicist in Wakanda, but do forgive me because I’ll be blunt here-”

Her Mama snorted, “Oh, you mean you _haven’t_ been blunt?”

A grin broke through Adanna’s sad face. Her Mama was always so feisty.

_I love you, Mama._

“Look…how old is your daughter now? What? Like four? Almost five, right? See, she’s _wasting_ time here, Miss Aurora. She could’ve undergone our special program _years_ ago, instead of wasting her time at home doing her own unstructured learning. Is that really what you want for your daughter? For her to squander away her talents?”

Her Mama growled in frustration.

“Now I’m going to say this, ONE, LAST, TIME, gentlemen. And then you _will_ leave us alone. Adanna is perfectly fine being self-taught. She doesn’t need your special programs with their overly-embellished names, or your overpaid instructors who, if I may be frank, are totally _overrated._ Do you know what she really needs? Do you? No? Okay. I’ll tell you what she needs. She needs **_freedom_** _._ She needs to discover what **_she_** wants to do with her talents. She needs the freedom to explore the world and to do the things that interest **_her_** _._ Most importantly, we need her to be **_happy._ ** And she most certainly won’t be, if you take her with you and mold her into something she doesn’t want to be.”

“But what can she really achieve from home, Miss Aurora? We could’ve taken her places…but instead, you both choose to let her waste her time here without doing anything of significance.”

“Oh really? We have stacks and stacks of advanced textbooks to prove just the contrary.” Her Mama retorted sarcastically.

“Here. Take a look. Act like you’re not surprised… _if that’s even possible **.**_ ” Her Baba said drily.

Seconds later, she heard something heavy being placed on top of the living room’s coffee table.

PLOP! THUD!

Her Baba must have taken out all the books stashed in the downstairs library. She’d always stash away the books that she’d finished in that library, but only because there simply wasn’t enough space in her bedroom to accommodate all of her books.

Her Mama continued her onslaught ever so passionately, “Now let me show you some of these _insignificant_ things she had done at home for the past nine months, shall I? She mastered differential and integral calculus, _both_ single and multivariable, mind you, in just _one_ month. Oops? Read Hoffman and Kunze’s Linear Algebra text in two months, mastered differential equations and numerical methods in another two. Double oops? And she’s now probably ploughing through some advanced text in topology and differential geometry. Oh, and she’d learnt _three_ programming languages in just a month. C++, FORTRAN, and Haskell, each one of them from three of the main programming paradigms out there. Namely, object-oriented programming, imperative programming, and functional programming, _assuming_ you fine gentlemen even know what those terms mean. Huh….And what more insignificant talent-squandering acts did my daughter partake in recently, I wonder? Hmm, let’s see. Oh well, she probably did nothing useful anyway, right? I’m pretty sure she had just wasted her youth by creating her own computer program which could generate a 3-dimensional model of an object out of a simple photographic image.”

The room went quiet, with the only audible sound being the whirling of the ceiling fan. 

Adanna, who was still sitting at the fifth step of the staircase, was greatly torn between embarrassment and relief.

She didn’t feel comfortable whenever someone praised her abilities, but at the same time, she was also glad that her parents were out there making a case for her.

“Ahem.” One of the men cleared his throat, and the awkward silence stretched on.

“Gentlemen…I think it’s time for you to leave.” Her Baba paused, “Before I call down a legion of Wakandan Royal guards on you.”

Adanna heard a leather-ish squeak. Probably the sofa.

_That means they’re leaving._

“I think you will regret this, Miss Aurora. That daughter of yours could’ve gone places.”

“Oh, she **_will_**. And she’s going to do it without you.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Sunday, 7.30AM, 22 nd November 2009 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

“Good morning, baby girl.”

Adanna stirred awake from her slumber. It was strange, hearing her Mama’s voice this early, assuming that it was, in fact, still early (she had the habit of sleeping in these days).

She blinked a few times, slowly letting her eyes adjust to the morning (presumably) sunlight.

“Good morning, Mama.” She said, throwing her blanket aside, and then yawned.

Her Mama sat herself down at the foot of the mattress.

“Good morning, sweetie. Slept well?”

Adanna nodded slackly and sat up, her head slumped against the headboard. Shockingly, her father there in her room too, sitting in the chair over there at the desk.

_What’s going on?_

Fear speared through her. And she was suddenly wide awake.

_What if they’re really sending me to school?_

“Baba?”

“Morning, munchkin.”

“Why are you both here?” She asked cautiously, hands automatically betook themselves to her comfort bolster, that red sausage-like blob of cotton. 

Her Baba regarded her with mirth. Then he said enthusiastically, “Why, to wake you up on this fine and sunny morning, of course!”

Err…what? She was totally missing something here.

A pinch formed at the bolster’s mid-length, like as if she was hugging a massive, two-sectioned chain sausage.

The bolster stuck to her chest.

 _Is today a special day?_ She thought to herself.

She supposed she wouldn’t know, since she couldn’t even tell what day or date it was today. To be fair, there really wasn’t the need for her to know the date and time anyway, since she didn’t go to school like other kids. Or was that about to change?

_Is it Wednesday?_

She supposed she had really lost track of the date. Strangely, that seemed to happen a lot these days. Perhaps she’d been working extra, extra hard just to prove that she could achieve something ‘productive’ and ‘significant’ from home. That way, those men wouldn’t have had any further excuse to drag her away to school.

“What day is it today?” Adanna asked. 

Wednesday. It was _probably_ a Wednesday. The last day known to her was a Tuesday. So it had to be Wednesday today. And if it was Wednesday, then it meant that she had already made it well into the third day of the project.

Yes, the project. Her biggest, and most daunting project thus far, one that involved almost every domain of her skills.

Mathematics, programming, electronics, computation, it required them all.

She was creating her own software program this time; an intricate 3D modelling software that would allow her to represent _and_ digitally manipulate any real world three-dimensional object as arrays of ones and zeroes stored on a computer.

The whole idea was actually spurred on by her desire to improve the simple 2D to 3D converter program that she’d written months prior. And ever since then, she had desired to reform her mini program by pushing it into the next level.

In other words, she wanted to develop her own hardcore 3D graphics modelling powerhouse.

For weeks, she had been researching all over the Internet and doing multiple case studies on existing products out there in the market. So far, all her efforts were fruitful. Her favorite product out there was actually 3DS Max, an awesome piece of computer graphics software developed by Autodesk. Although the source codes weren’t released to the public, she had read though a couple of detailed documentations apropos of the advanced modelling algorithms used to create 3DS Max.

Naturally, she was highly impressed with what they had done.

But still.

She figured she could do better.

With all the knowledge she’d picked up from her curious forays into topology, differential geometry, advanced ray tracing methods, and polygonal techniques, she was absolutely confident that she could now create her own improvised version of the 3DS Max.

And the best part was that she had even thought of adding new features into her program!

Most existing 3D modelling software did their work either by: A) accepting input data from a 3D scanner, B) manual design through the software’s GUI, or C) using user-defined algorithms. Her idea, then, was to include an additional input source: **HOLOGRAPHIC INPUT.** In other words, her version of the 3DS Max could transform a digital hologram into a 3D model that can be manipulated on a personal computer. _And_ , vice versa, it could even save any 3D models created on a personal computer into a holographic file format. Which _means_ , ladies and gentlemen, that using her software, one could literally _design_ a holographic image on a cheap personal computer.

That was the whole idea, essentially.

The case studies had taken quite a while, because there were just so many awesome products out there to be surveyed. But, fortunately, she had had all her findings finalized and documented by last Sunday. Hence, on Monday, she’d actually begun outlining a detailed design plan for her own 3D graphics modelling software. And by Tuesday, she’d made so much progress into it that she’d already gotten some parts of her design down into actual C++ code.

At this rate, she could probably have her own 3D graphics modelling software (she really, really, had to come up with a cool name for it) up and running in just a couple of months from now. And better still, if she could somehow gain access to a 3D printer by then, she could even have her own mini computer-generated wax sculptures lying around in the house! Talk about fun with computers!

Oh, and speaking of computers, now she definitely needed a new computer. A more powerful one in order for her to run and test her creation.

“It’s Sunday, munchkin.” Her Baba said mirthfully, promptly ending her work induced high.

Sunday…wait.

WHAT?!!

“It’s Sunday already?!!” She half-shouted, clearly shocked at how much time had lapsed since she started her project. 

Her Mama merely stared at her, her face displayed half-amusement, and half-concern.

“It is, dear. You’ve been cooped up in here for a whole week.” Her Mama levelled her a stern look, “Hadn’t come downstairs except to pick up a few books from the library.”

“Oh. I thought it’s Wednesday…” She said vacuously.

“And do you really not know what day it is today?” Her Baba eyed her.

“Um…it’s a…Sunday?”

“Yes. And also your _birthday_.” Her Mama said.

Adanna’s eyes shot to the digital clock. She checked the date, and realized that it _was_ indeed her birthday. Her fifth birthday. She was five years old now. 

“Oh.” She looked back at her Mama sheepishly.

“And…that’s also why your Mama and I are here. To deliver your birthday surprise!”

So this had nothing to do with sending her to school, after all. Phew. She could live with that.

“My birthday surprise?”

Her Mama stood up from the mattress and headed towards the door, “Mmm hmm.”

Her Baba clapped his hands a few times, “Now. Close your eyes.” He ordered.

“Is it another book?” She fished.

Her Baba only smiled, “ _Just_ close your eyes, you curious little munchkin.”

Standing at the door, her Mama laughed heartily and said, “Do as you’re told, dear. You’ll like this, I promise.”

Although overwhelmed with curiosity, Adanna relented. Since, clearly, acquiescence was the quickest way to get to the bottom of this surprise.

CREAK…

The door open seconds later.

There were a couple of familiar footsteps, too.

And then silence.

She waited it out until her Mama finally spoke.

“You can open your eyes now, sweetie.”

She did, slowly, and was met with perhaps the greatest shock of her entire life.

“Themba!!” She gasped, and was up and out of her bed in an instant.

“Hey….How’s my baby sister doing?!”

She rushed forward to hug her big brother, but was stopped by her brother’s raised palm.

“Ah. Ah. Ah…Hold on just a sec…” He said playfully.

Adanna stopped in her tracks, her narrowed eyes and furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

She watched her brother pull something out from his back pocket. It was a piece of paper, torn out from some yellow memo pad.

The paper was unfolded, and Themba began reading out its contents.

“What’s…five million, six hundred ninety-eight thousand, seven hundred forty-five times one million, six hundred forty-nine thousand, eight hundred fifty-seven?”

Adanna rolled her eyes.

Ugh. This again.

Okay. Fine. Let’s do this. 

But she might need a while to get this right, seeing how she just woke up and all.

20 seconds later, she shouted the answer, “Nine trillion, four hundred two billion, one hundred fourteen million, three hundred twenty-nine thousand, four hundred sixty-five!!”

Themba laughed out loud, threw the yellow piece of paper into the air and held his arms wide open, “Now come here you...”

Adanna leaped forward, “I missed you, brother.”

“I missed you too, baby sister.”

“But why are you back?” Adanna asked, turning her gaze towards her smiling parents.

She felt Themba ruffle her hair.

“I have a two-week break. And Baba flew me back here last night, just in time for me to surprise you on your birthday.”

 _Best birthday gift, EVER._ She thought.

“Thank you, Baba.”

“You’re welcome, munchkin.”

“Alright, honey. Why don’t we let those two catch up while we prepare some breakfast? Themba, hungry yet?”

Themba pulled away from their hug.

“Starving, Mama. And I miss your cooking.” He said cheekily.

“Your usual?”

“Make it double!”

Both her parents laughed at Themba’s antics and left the room, leaving the siblings alone.

“You didn’t use a calculator this time…” Adanna commented out of the blue.

“Hmm?”

“The calculator. You didn’t use it to check the math.”

“Hmm, you’re right. I didn’t…” Themba paused, and smirked, “…Or _did_ I?”

It took Adanna 4 seconds to fully register his meaning.

SMACK! She slapped him playfully across the chest.

“I’m not your calculator, Themba!”

Themba chortled, and pinched her cheeks.

“Aww…of course you’re not. You’re my baby sister…my cute little munchkin baby sister.”

She felt her face being pulled from side to side at the cheeks.

“Waaimm mnnoout eerrrr buuaaaay beeeeee. Waaimm ffuuaiiiifff.” She protested, both her cheeks being stretched apart like a chunk of gooey melted cheese.

“Say that again, why don’t you. You adorable little munchkin.”

Adanna stuck out her tongue and shook her head.

Themba ruffled her head again, “Alright, alright, I’m done messing with you. Wanna sit down?”

Adanna nodded, and they both moved to the edge of the bed.

“So you’re developing your own software now, huh? I see some interesting flow chart diagrams lying around here.” He said.

“Yup.” She answered back sheepishly.

“So what does it do?”

She blushed and threw a shrug, “This and that…”

Themba chuckled, and went to flip through a pile of her notes on the desk.

“Well…based on the mathematics I’m seeing here…I’m guessing it’s got something to do with computer graphics.”

Adanna plucked repeatedly at some loose thread of her bolster, “Yup…”

“CAD?”

“It’s more than that.”

Themba put down her notes, “Well? So tell me more.”

“It’s a 3D modelling software.”

“Interesting.”

“Have you heard of 3DS Max?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard of it. I met a friend in the US who’s a game designer. They use that program to design their graphics. I even played with it a few times. It’s awesome.”

“Yup. I’m developing something like that.”

“Exactly the same?”

“Well…no.”

Themba laughed, “Of course. What was I even saying? Of course my genius baby sister’s work would be even more awesome.”

“I don’t know…but mine does allow users to input holograms into it so…”

“Holograms……nice.” Themba nodded appreciatively.

Adanna waved, “It’s still in the early stages.”

“What language will you write it in?”

“3DS was done in C++…so I’ll try to do the same I guess.”

“Say…baby sister?”

“Hmm?”

“Does all this,” Themba pointed to her notes on the desk, “by any chance, have something to do with your sudden interest in sculpturing? Baba mentioned that to me a couple of times.”

Adanna blushed.

“May…be…?”

Themba laughed, and went to pinch her cheeks. Again.

_He really likes doing that._

“You have a rare gift, munchkin. But you mustn’t let it become the source of your misery someday, okay? Remember to only use it to do the things that make you happy.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Have you discovered your own star yet?”

Themba chuckled, “No.”

“What have you been doing in school, then?”

“Hmm. A lot of things. But we went through some case studies last week.”

“About what?”

“About cyberattacks launched against satellites and space stations.”

“Cyberattacks?”

“Yes. Hacking. Do you know hacking?”

Adanna shook her head.

Surprisingly, her brother leaped off the bed. And seconds later, he was at the desk and booting up her computer.

“Say, baby sister…how much do you know about computer networks?”

“Um…a little?”

“Good. Then I wanna show you something interesting.”

He turned back to her and threw her his signature grin.

Ah. The good old times again. When it was just her and her brother against the world. She missed those times.

“Come on…get over here.” He waved at her, “What are you waiting for?”

She got up.

“Okay. But what are you showing me?”

“Hah! You’re gonna love this. Because **_I_** ,” He paused for added dramatic effect, “am gonna introduce you into the world of hacking and digital espionage.”

Espionage…Hmm.

Adanna’s eyes shone in interest.

“Really?”

“For real.” He put a finger to his lips and winked, “But shh, don’t tell Baba and Mama. This will be our little secret.”

Yep.

Best birthday gift.

Ever.

 

*     *     *

 

**Wednesday, 9.00AM, 19 th October 2011 (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

The carton was slipping.

She could feel it. The coarse, scratchy cardboard, sliding against her palms, downwards, inch by inch. And gradually tilting forward, radian by radian.

“Adanna!!!”

She flinched at the shrill vociferation of her name.

“What are you doing? That’s too heavy for you! Put it down, now!”

Notwithstanding the warning, she hung on to the offending box, and wobbled towards the nearest surface.

She didn’t quite make it there before she keeled over.

SMACK!!!

The cardboard slipped, its viscera pouring out in chunks from its folded top lid.

Her knees buckled like a failing truss, and a dull thud ensued as they connected with the gritty, crusty floor matting.

Harlequin magazines bestrewed the floor. Booklets, in vast clusters, at least a hundred of them, lay strewn across the gray, vomitous floor matting; like spotted rainbows against the gunmetal sky; like sparkling diamonds amidst greyish graphite.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. See? What have I told you? Didn’t I tell you _not_ to move the box?”

Her knees throbbed, like as if all her synovial fluid were about to explode from its cavity.

“I’m sorry, Baba.”

She felt herself being pulled up through the armpits.

“Let me see.” Her Baba’s hand dusted her knees.

She stood there quietly and endured her Baba’s unending ministrations.

“I don’t see any blood. Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

She felt herself being turned at the shoulders while her Baba further inspected her patellae.

“There’re no cuts. But they’ll probably bruise.”

Disgruntled with the mess she’d made, Adanna bent down to right the fallen box. She winced as another series of sharp throbs swamped her knees.

“Leave it, Ada. I’ll deal with it.”

“But I wanna help.” She protested.

Her Baba sighed.

“See that new computer over there?” He pointed to the desk near the building’s entrance, where a newly unboxed CPU and LCD monitor sat.

She nodded.

“Why don’t you go help me set it up?”

“Okay, Baba.” She acquiesced. 

Computers. Those she could definitely manage better than boxes twice her size.

An unpleasant din loomed somewhere outside the building. ‘Athenge le! Athenge le! <Buy this! Buy this!>’, they went. And with the occasional, ‘Isaphulelo best! <Best discounts!>’ thrown around. The entire district was swarmed, jam packed with people. Sweaty. And loud.  

Stall owners scurried about, eager to earn the day’s bread. They hollered, they yelled, they bellowed till their voices broke, but nobody really paid them any heed, except maybe for the battalion of thin-as-sticks market lollygaggers who looked like they’d just splurged all their savings on the bazaar instead of food. 

Rowdy, and obstreperous was the purlieu. Every bit the flea market that it was.

Adanna’s knee screamed as she sat herself down at the desk chair. Reaching over, she pushed down the power button of the CPU, and waited for the bootloader to work its magic.

The LCD monitor flashed once.

Seconds later, the manufacturer logo vanished, and everything went dark, leaving nothing but a blinking white cursor on the screen.

From the back of her mind, a spate of nostalgia rolled, coaxing a tiny smile straight out of her features.

A DOS interface.

 _Haven’t seen those in quite a while._ She mused.

Strings of white-greyish characters flashed across the inky display, line after line. She waited. And waited some more until the system paused at the final line: 

BOOT MANAGER MISSING_

Seemed like her Baba wasn’t kidding when he said that the box was new. This was like _new,_ new.

_Probably has no Operating System installed on the hard drive yet._

“Baba! Where do you keep the CD for the OS?!” She hollered across the empty space of the building. A breeze followed, causing the wind chime at the entrance to clink noisily. 

“Check the CPU’s packaging box!” Her Baba hollered back.

She rummaged under the desk until she felt a smooth cardboard texture of the packaging. Then, from inside it, she pulled out bulky solid, neatly wrapped in transparent plastic film. It was an azure colored box containing a bootable CD.

Windows 7, she noted.

_Last year’s release._

She smiled, thinking that she hadn’t touched a Windows ever since the day she first got her Dell. But to be fair, she really didn’t have much of a choice about that, since Themba had replaced the stock Windows XP on her Dell with Ubuntu at first moment’s notice.

UNIX over Windows. Back then, even when she was only two years old, that notion had already been hammered into her mind. Well, how could it not? Her Mama’s box was a Linux. Her Baba’s too. And Themba had downright pried her Dell out of her hand in order to pop a Ubuntu CD into it.

But then again, she’d only heard great things about Windows 7 over the months following its release. Best Operating System ever created, they said. And the software had really, _really,_ made a hit on the market, big time. Bill Gates’ pockets had undoubtedly grown several feet thicker over the last few months. Quite apt, she supposed. Considering the sheer demand for a stable and user-friendly Operating Systems, and also considering the sheer amount of non-geek computer users out there who fancied a pretty, GUI-dominated, mouse-clicking, flyingtransparentwindows, OS more than anything else. With such high demands, it was bound to be a hit.

Data.

And software.

That’s what today’s digital age was all about.

A few taps on a keyboard could be a game-changer. A few lines of code could fill up one’s bank account, both legally _and_ illegally! Legally through the legitimate sales of a patented software, and illegally through hacking.

Today’s world was highly computerized, and software-driven. Soon, perhaps in the near future, it could even be software- _governed._

A good piece of software could take you everywhere. That’s how the world works now.

She fleetingly thought of Michelangelo, her own 3D graphics modelling software which was currently in its final testing stage (there were still a couple of pesky bugs that she had yet to fix). And yes, she had named it after the great Italian sculptor, Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni. She fleetingly wondered if she should apply a patent for Michelangelo too. She would certainly earn a profitable sum if she were to do that wouldn’t she? But then again, she had developed Michelangelo just for fun. It was never really about scoring the big bucks. It was the intellectual challenge that she had been going after, not the worldly benefits that came with it.

And besides, what did she need the big bucks for, anyway?

Peeling away the small tape at the side, Adanna released the azure-box from its plastic wrap and took out the CD it contained.

Then she pushed down on the CPU’s power button once again to reboot the system. Immediately, the LCD’s manufacturer logo flashed across the screen’s center, prompting her into action. Without ado, she spammed the F1 key on the keyboard and waited patiently for the system BIOS interface to show.

And…now, from the BIOS she just had to switch the first boot device from the PC’s hard-drive to its CD drive.

_Done._

She popped the Operating System’s CD into the CD drive, and then rebooted the system again.

_Now we wait._

Ten seconds later, the screen transformed into a flashy GUI. It was blue, with a couple of flowers at the right side. Near the center, the latest Windows’ logo floated on top of the ‘Windows 7’ banner.

 _Nice._ She thought.

Grabbing the mouse, she clicked on, ‘Install now’. And the system went to work with the occasional prompts for her to agree on a few terms and conditions.

Finally, a small window popped up, asking her to partition the hard drive on which the Operating System was to be installed.

_20GB should be enough for the OS. The rest can go to data storage._

With a few more clicks, the disk partitioning was done, and Adanna left the computer to unload all system files onto the system partition.

Turning away from the monitor, she planted her legs onto the ground and gave a light push. The swivel chair rolled away from the desk towards the window. The opened shutters allowed the beautiful morning sunlight to stream into the building’s interior, creating a yellowish-white hue on the walls.

A potted flower sat on the window sill. Yellow daffodils, nodding leisurely with the wind’s lazy tempo.

CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.  The wind chimes sounded too.

Another nice warm breeze tickled her face as she leaned her elbows against the window sill. She felt a yawn coming through but she resisted it.

Notwithstanding the endless hubbub encircling the property, Adanna surmised that acquiring this property was quite a worthwhile deal after all, especially if it was to be used to start a business. Besides, for all they knew, the hubbub surrounding the building could even be a blessing, since it heralded good business. As the saying goes, the more the merrier. And in the context of business, she could even say ‘the merrier the richer’. 

Her Baba had resigned from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ office last December, though it wasn’t exactly an entirely out of the blue decision, since she’d overheard him discussing it with Mama on several occasions prior to its occurrence.

But from what she’d overheard, her Baba had been entertaining thoughts of resignation ever since those men in blue suits started frequenting the house. He said that it would be better to have at least one parent be with her at all times throughout the day, and since her Mama’s career as a geophysicist was too important to Wakanda’s economy, he had decided that _he_ would quit instead.

A week after that conversation with Mama, Baba handed in his resignation and he was a free man.

Months later, he began making plans to start his own business. He said, that way he could still earn an income while still be by her side throughout the day. Naturally, her Mama was overjoyed with the plan. And shortly after that, they went on a series of property-hunting.

Her Baba had actually discovered this place through Uncle Rafael’s recommendation, and had taken an immediate liking to it after his first tour of the building. He’d recognized the building’s strategic value as a business property, claiming it to be a good business spot due to its sheer proximity to Central Wakanda’s largest flea market where most people tend to flock towards. He even said that it was a place of convenience, since it was so close to town. And the best part was that she could now have lunch together with her Mama and Baba every day, since the building was more accessible from her Mama’s workplace.    

Hence, a week later, he had signed the paperwork and secured the property.

There was, of course, debates regarding the type of business her Baba was to run. However, in the end, both he and Mama had agreed that he should put his extensive knowledge in World History into good use by creating and selling merchandise goods featuring the outside world. Adanna thought it was a superb idea, since she could also utilize her proficiency in computer graphics to help design and create their own brand of merchandise goods to be sold. They were an awesome team, she and her Baba. Not to mention that she’d had lots and lots of fun, and had learnt lots and lots of stuff too! Ultimately, it was an arduous, but fun, process.

Typically, she would do all the work on the computer, and her Baba would use his vast knowledge of the outside world to create ‘foreign-themed’ products. Magazines. T-shirts. Slippers. Key-chains. Pens. Pencils. Towels. Rugs. Bags. Informative booklets. Detailed maps of each nation. They had it all. And all of them patented as their original creations. And thus, the NK brand was born. NK, which stood for Nkululeko.

But they didn’t stop there.

They’d even come up with a catch phrase for the brand. A two-word slogan:

Experience Freedom.

That slogan was, Adanna could proudly say, her own idea. And she thought that it was not only catchy, but meaningful too. NK stood for Nkululeko, which meant ‘freedom’ in Xhosa. And through the NK brand, one explores every part of the world without restraints; cultures, religions, practices, life styles, delicacies. And as a result, one gains a kind of freedom which transcends political creed and geographic constraints.

There was, however, a certain irony behind the idea. One that brought no less amount of laughter and amusement to the father-daughter pair the night they came up with the brand.

_“It’s funny, Baba.”_

_“Yes, munchkin?”_

_“The NK brand represents freedom, right?”_

_“Well, considering all our discussions for the past two hours, then yes. I’d say that it represents freedom.”_

_“But the irony is that we’re selling it, Baba. Which means, in a sense, that freedom isn’t free.”_

After she said that, her Baba burst into fits of laughter. And shortly after that, she’d joined in the mirth too. The irony was just too good to be left un-humored.

If the design and planning stage was tough, then it was safe to say that the production stage was even more daunting. The items had taken them _months_ to produce. It was hard work, where her Baba had to travel all over the nation to look for decent manufacturers to mass produce their designs. It was tough, but in the end they’d managed it somehow. Once they’d found a manufacturer, things moved along pretty fast. Items came rolling in one by one.

And now, everything was ready.

The only thing left for them to do was to ready the store for its premiere next Monday, which was kinda why they were here this morning.

Oh, and they should also come up with a decent store name too.

The chair creaked as Adanna spun it around in circles.

She nearly yelped when her bruised knee hit the concrete wall beneath the window. She stopped spinning and stared at the flower pot instead. 

The daffodils seemed to be having fun, she observed in the spirit of amusement rather than that of science. She stared, dreamily, at the soporific and toe-tapping sway of yellow daffodils, like a choreographed dance orchestrated by the morning zephyr.

Inadvertently, she shifted her face closer to the flowers until she felt their yellow petals tickle her forehead. She pulled back, and turned her gaze back towards the PC’s screen, where a transparent, glass-pane themed ‘window’ levitated at the center.

She rolled the chair over to the desk.

 _Installing features… 37%_ It said.

To her left, at a good 20 feet away, her Baba was still picking up the fallen magazines and booklets she’d dropped.

“I’m sorry, Baba!” She said aloud.

“It’s alright, Ada. How’s the PC setup going?”

“Almost done, Baba.”

Her Baba stood up from the floor and looked at her, “You hungry?”

“Nope.” She said.

“Tell me if you’re hungry, okay? Maybe we can grab a bite somewhere at the bazaar. Mama won’t be here for lunch until 11.”

“Okay.”

Then he bent down to work on another pile of fallen booklets.

From the corner of her eye, she detected a swift movement; a blotch of dark zipping past her peripheral vision.

She turned back towards the window shutters and nearly jerked back in surprise, the good kind.

 _Aww. What a cute creature._ Adanna thought as she watched it meander back and forth on the window sill, sniffing and pawing at anything in its path.

“Baba! There is a cat.” She said, and slowly moved towards the window, being extra careful not to scare it away.

The kitty, who had been sniffing at the daffodils suddenly levelled her with a sharp piercing gaze. It had a pair of beautiful, green eyes, and a small pink nose with a red tip.

She took another measured step forward. Carefully.

The kitty flinched slightly, but it didn’t seem too scared of her. Though it did seem hungry, and thirsty.

_Poor little kitty, must have been through some pretty rough patch._

Once close enough, Adanna reached out and gently stroked the kitty’s fur.

It was a beautiful cat, with soft but unkempt fur; black on top, white at the bottom.

It was thin, and frail, like as if it hadn’t eaten in days.

_Poor kitty._

With newfound endearment, Adanna ran her fingers over the bulk of its head, smoothing over the fur sticking out in weird angles. Its ears were droopy too, indubitably due to weeks, or perhaps months of hardship.

“What troubles have you faced, dear little kitty?” She whispered softly.

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Adanna ran back towards the desk.

She remembered her Baba left a bottle of water there.

She sneaked a glance at the screen, and took note of the installation’s progress.

_Completing installation… 23%_

Come to think of, she also remembered seeing an ashtray somewhere.

She rummaged the drawer until she found the silver tray. Then, with the ashtray in hand, she grabbed the bottle of water and headed for the window sill.

“Leave it be, Ada. It might belong to someone else.” Her Baba said. 

 _Well, it doesn’t even_ **look** _like it’s been taken care of at all._ She thought.

“But Baba… it looks so hungry, and so thirsty…” Adanna whined.

“Alright, fine, you can feed it. Just be careful. Don’t let it scratch you.”

Gently, Adanna set the unused ashtray down on the sill, and then filled it up with a generous serving of water. As if on cue, the kitty forfeited the boxing match it had been engaging in with the daffodils. And slowly, it gravitated itself towards the promising tray of cold, clean Adam’s ale.

It hesitated a little at the tray. But after a few beckoning strokes from her, kitty relented, giving itself up to the desirous need to lave its parched throat.

_Drink up, kitty._

From the rim of the tray, water sluiced, wetting the window sill.

The kitty drank, greedily.

Adanna topped up the water after the first round, and watched the poor cat go at the water like it was the most delicious meal it’d had in years. And frankly, judging from its appearance, that observation might not even be that far off from the truth. As soon as it was done, the kitty leapt off the sill, and onto the building’s tiny patio. Adanna watched, in disappointment, as it disappeared between the two flower pots adorning the patio’s concrete ledge.

She spotted it again though, a few minutes later. It was crawling its way off the patio and into the ruckus of the flea market.

She wondered if she’d ever see it again. She wondered if her parents would let her keep it.

 _Probably not going to see the kitty ever again._ She thought sadly as she continued tracing the cat’s movement, watching it navigate its way through the willowy legs of market lollygaggers.

Soon, the kitty was gone, disappeared into the sea of sweaty humans. She sighed dejectedly, and leaned her elbows against the window sill. The din had quieted down as noon approached. If she were to guess, it was most probably because the weather was too hot to be spent lazing around a congested flea market. The food stalls were still packing though. It was lunch hour after all.  

Okumnandi was the food stall nearest to their building which sold fried bean cakes and rice stew. It was ran by middle-age lady who seemed to be sporting a ‘tire’ around her waist. Guess those in the food business probably ate as much too.

Adanna noticed a man standing beside the food stall. He was bald, and had sunglasses on. He had a tall frame, and was casually dressed in singlet and jeans. The singlet gave her a clear view of his muscular arms. It was the tattoos emblazoned on those arms that took most of her attention though. Unique tattoos. And there were two of them, one on each arm. She didn’t have a perfect view, but from her position at the window, she could roughly tell what those tattoos featured.

Children.

They were tattoos of children. Little kids.

On his left arm was a tattoo of a young boy. And a little girl on the right.

 _What could they mean?_ She mused.

 _Perhaps those tattoos resembled his kids?_ She surmised.

Probably the case. Since most people would only have meaningful things tattooed on their bodies. Not that she knew a lot about the art of tattooing and stuff, but it seemed to make sense. The man’s face was turned towards their building. And if she was honest, he seemed to be staring right at her. Then again, she couldn’t exactly tell for sure, what with the sunglasses and all.

“Hey, where did the cat go?” Her Baba asked.

“It ran away, Baba.” She said, turning away from the window.

“Hmm…” Her Baba grunted as he hoisted a box from the floor. It was the same box of magazines and booklets that she had ‘carried’ just now.

“Why don’t you come over here, and help me sort out these magazines?” He said, plopping the box down onto the desk inside the office at the back of the building.

“Okay.” She said, darting towards her father.

“Sort it according to its publication year.”

She picked up a pile and went to work. The magazines dated back as old as the 1990s, a time before she was even born. They ran the gamut from science magazines to fashion magazines. Even the languages they were printed in came in abundance. Most were printed in Xhosa, of course. But she’d spotted quite a few in English, French, Italian, Chinese, and even Japanese.

At the bottom of the pile, she saw a stack of them that were slightly smaller in size compared to the rest.

Children’s magazines.

She flipped through a few.

Most of them, she realized, were printed in English.

National Geographic Kids. Humpty Dumpty. Kids Discover. Zoobook. Ladybug. Children’s Digest. Jack and Jill.

She smiled.

_At least these are better than picture books._

The last magazine in the pile caught her eyes though.

It was a high quality glossy print.

A toy catalogue. And a neatly organized one, too. Because the entire catalogue was organized into two halves. The first half contained toys for boys, and the second half for girls. Each page had a special design akin to that of a colored photo frame. The frame came in blue for the boys’ section, and pink for the girls’.

She flipped through the boys’ section.

Toy cars. Toy guns. Robots. Remote control choppers. A flashy AK47.

And…action figures?

_Action figures._

Hey, wouldn’t that be a great idea for their store too?

NK Brand action figures. Imagine that. 

Yeah…They could totally sell action figures here in the store. And not just _any_ action figures, too. Lifelike mini wax figures. Seriously, with Michelangelo’s complex geometric algorithms, she could easily create a figurine resembling just about anybody or _anything._

“Baba!! Baba!!” She yelled, feeling positively exhilarated and psyched.

Her Baba rushed towards her.

“What? What is it?” He asked worriedly.

With an extra bounce on each step, Adanna loped towards her father and shoved the toy catalogue into his face.

“Action figures!!” She squealed, her eyes coruscating with excitement.

Her father threw her a confused look, “Um…? What? Do you want me to buy one of these things for you?”

“No, Baba! I’m saying we can sell them here!”

“O…kay…? But we didn’t produce any of those…”

Adanna released a low growl. Her Baba could be _amazingly_ slow sometimes.

“I can use Michelangelo to make them!!”

“Ahh…I see. Hmm.” He paused, “Actually, that’s a great idea. But…wait, I thought Michelangelo isn’t fully working yet?”

Of course, there was also **_that_** tiny, weeny little problem.

Oops.  

Stupid bugs. She’d fixed them all right, if she could just figure out the exact lines of code that was causing them. Adanna shifted sheepishly, “Just a couple of minor bugs left to fix. The GUI and main components are all working fine.”

“Okay, so when do you think it can be finished?”

Adanna shrugged casually, “In another month……?” but then her confidence wavered, “…or two?”

Honestly, it might take longer than that. But if she put in a little bit more work, then she just might finish it quick. _If_ she could identify the source of the bug, that is.  

Her Baba nodded contemplatively. 

“Hmm. But you’ll need a 3D printer, wouldn’t you?”

“A _wax_ 3D printer. Not the ones that use plastic.” Adanna clarified quickly.

Her Baba raised a brow, “You’re using wax? What exactly are you planning to make, Ada?”

“You know those life-like wax figures we see on TV? The ones that looked a lot like the celebs?”

“Uh-huh…but those are big. It’ll cost a lot to make those.”

“We can scale them down to a figurine size.” Adanna hold up her palm for her Baba, “About palm-sized. Maybe slightly bigger.”

“Ah…I see.”

“Michelangelo can capture a lot details. But for the best effect, we will need a high-precision _wax_ 3D printer capable of producing that level of detail in a scaled-down size.” Adanna explained enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, the 3D printer, about that...I’m not sure if we can get one of those around here.”

Adanna’s face fell.

“Oh.” She said.

“But don’t worry, Ada. I’ll try to ask around.”

Suddenly, Adanna’s features illumed, celestially, as another idea struck her.

“Um…Maybe we can ask Themba’s high school friend’s dad?!” She suggested.

“And why’s that…?”

Adanna pulled on her Baba’s sleeves.

“Because he’s an engineer! He made my vibranium puzzle box, remember? Surely, he can help us!”

“I see. Alright. Why don’t you complete Michelangelo first, and then in the meantime, I’ll try to see if I can get you a good 3D printer?”

“A _wax_ 3D printer.” Adanna said pointedly.

Her Baba laughed, “Alright, alright, yes! A _wax_ 3D printer.”

“Honey!!! Adanna!!!”

They both turned at the voice they knew all too well. It came from the building’s front entrance.

“In here!! At the back!!” Her Baba shouted back, and then turned to her, “Mama’s here for lunch.” He smiled, “You hungry yet, munchkin?”

Adanna nodded.

“Let’s go then.” Her Baba grabbed her tiny hands.

Together, hand in hand, they both walked out.

“Hey, honey.” Her Baba greeted Mama in a bear hug, “You wanna know what your super genius, polymath, baby daughter just suggested to me?”

“What?” Her Mama’s features betrayed amusement.

“She said she’s gonna start making mini wax figures now. And she wants them to be sold here.”

“Oh, really?” Her Mama said, clearly impressed. 

Adanna felt herself enveloped in her Mama’s embrace, “Yes, Mama. I’m using Michelangelo.”

“And you wanna know what else she wants from us now, honey? A _3D printer._ ” Her Baba said in mock exasperation.

“A **_WAX_** 3D printer, Baba!!” Adanna shouted in mild annoyance, causing her Baba to laugh.

Her Baba tickled her, “Exactly. A wax 3D printer. What’s next, huh, munchkin? A spaceship?”

Right then, amid her own giggling fit and her parents’ hysterical laughter, she thought she’d never been happier.

She only wished Themba was here.

 

* * *

 

**RELIC**

 

**Saturday, 8:30PM, 14 th April 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Triskelion, SHIELD Headquarters, Washington D.C, United States of America**

RING! RING! RING! RING! RING! RING!

CLICK!

“Yes, Director?”

“Coulson. Whatever you’re doing, put it on hold. We have a Level 7.”

“One moment, sir.”

Phil Coulson sent Agent Melinda May a subtle look before he signaled to the rest of the agents in his office, “Guys, I need a moment. May, you stay.”

May nodded.

“Alright guys. You’re all dismissed.” She said.

The agents left.

Phil placed the phone down on his desk, “Computer. Secure Office.”

_“Office secured.”_

Coulson switched the phone to speaker.

“Director, you’re on speaker. May’s here too.”

“Good. Gear up, both of you. And do me a favor.”

“Yes, sir. What do you need?”

“STRIKE Team Delta. Ready by midnight.”

Coulson and May shared a look.

“Romanoff’s still undercover, sir. The Antonio Carlos mission.”

“I don’t **_care_** , Coulson. This can’t wait. So either she completes her mission by midnight, or you arrange for immediate exfiltration. I want STRIKE Team Delta on standby. **ASAP**. No exceptions. Are we clear?”

Agent May and Coulson stared at each other warily.

“On one condition, sir.” Coulson paused, “Tell us the situation.”

“Since when did you start questioning a direct order from me, _agent_?”

“With all due respect, sir, if you want me to risk compromising a high end mission like that, then I deserve to know why.”

There was a short pause.

“Is your location secure?” Fury asked, his tone measured and slightly lowered.

Coulson sent another look at May.

“Yes, sir. I’m at the HQ. The office is secured.”

From the other end of the line, they heard more ruckus. Angry voices. Somebody seemed to be arguing fervently with the Director.

“Sir, what the hell is going on?” May asked impatiently.

More chattered ensued until they heard a female voice speaking to the Director in a frantic tone.

It was the Deputy Director, Maria Hill.

10 seconds later, Fury’s voice blasted through the speaker.

“They found him.”

Realization shot through Coulson.

May’s eyes widened.

“I’ll go get Barton.” She said.

 

*     *     *

 

 **Saturday, 9:23PM, 14 th April 2012** **(Central Time Zone, UTC-06:00)**

**Location: Un-named Warehouse, Mexico City, Mexico**

12 surveillance cams.

15.5 gauge, 4 point, non-electrified, high tensile barbed wire fences.

No security sensors.

No trigger alarms.

Nothing.

Nada.

Not even guard dogs.

Seriously?   

Agent Romanoff rolled her eyes.

She just went undercover in that ditch for a whole week for _this_?

Seriously?

A snort escaped the agent’s lips. She bet even a toddler could waddle into this place unnoticed. Talk about negligence.

 _Can’t believe these knuckleheads actually survived this long in the business._ She thought in amusement.

Then again, should she really be complaining? Her missions were almost never easy these days.

_Might as well just enjoy it._

From her stakeout location, Natasha eyeballed the facility for possible entry points.

_Warehouse style building._

_Large._

_Approximately 30 meters in height._

_Four doors in total. Two emergency exits at the side. One up front. Another at the back._

_Airshaft leading into the east wing._

_Chimney at the roof’s center._

_Surveillance blind spot near the backdoor._

_Backdoor it is, then._

_Estimated MET, 30 minutes tops._

On the whole, this should be an easy op. A cinch to wrap up her one-week undercover mission. 

The mission directive she’d received last week was pretty straight-forward. Go undercover. Unearth the location of this place. Track it down. Infiltrate. Exterminate all targets. And then burn the whole place down. And to top it off, everything should be made to look like an accident.

Swift. Clean. Precise. And quiet.

The art of silent killing.

Black Widow style.

Leave no man alive, Coulson had thus told her during the briefing last week. Because every single soul that she was about to kill tonight was, in Coulson’s exact words, ‘a scumbag in the world of scumbags’.

Responsible for over a _thousand_ homicides, Antonio Carlos, the world’s most wanted drug lord, popped up on SHIELD’s radar about a month ago.

Apparently, SHIELD had caught wind of the grapevines that the ‘biggest drug convention since the 1980s’ would be held somewhere in Mexico City this year. Something about all the drug lords in the region convening under one roof to discuss issues apropos of ‘territorial ownerships’.

However, since SHIELD had virtually zero intelligence regarding the meeting’s location, it was then up to her to ‘sniff’ out the intel. And no, she wasn’t exactly kidding about the sniffing part, by the way. She had to _sniff_ , quite literally, by going undercover as a drug addict roaming the dirty streets of Mexico. 

Took her one week to find out the location of this warehouse.

And it was done cleverly with the placement of a transparent, thread-like wiretap on a drug dealer who had idiotically bragged to one of his buddies about a great ‘meeting’ somewhere in the southwest side of Mexico City, and on this date. The wiretap caught everything.

The rest was history.

Natasha shifted into a crouching position, hands gripping her binoculars, her eyes roaming over the turf.

From the intel she’d gathered, the meeting was set to commence at 9PM. Flicking her binoculars towards the garage, she noted the 10 vehicles parked there.

All bullet-proof. And with tinted screens. Very druglord-ish.

_Meeting’s on schedule._

However, instead of straight out barging in, Natasha had decided to wait it out for a bit. Just in case some of the attending drug lords decided to play hooky for a half hour or two. She didn’t want to tip anyone off by going in too early. She’d planned to get them all in one fell swoop.

_Fifteen minutes. And then show time._

The Equinox-Z in her hands lowered from her face, and was soon discarded onto the grassy earth by her feet. A black, sleek, 4 by 50mm binoculars it was. With state-of-the-art infrared illumination; one of her favorite night-vision gears out there.

It was a gift from Clint years ago. He’d given it to her two days after they’d returned to base from their mission in Budapest. That day, she found the binoculars sitting inside her private locker, with a red bow ribbon tied to it on top, and with a cute little note containing Clint’s familiar scrawl:

  _Do us both a favor, and get a ‘pair’._

Back then, she’d laughed so hard that she was literally reduced to tears. She knew that Clint must have given the binoculars to her as a joke, because it just so happened that a pair of malfunctioning binoculars was _the_ reason that their mission in Budapest went completely south. And apparently, Clint must have thought it was a great idea to buy her a pair of binoculars as a gag gift, and perhaps as a reminder for the both of them to never use another pair of SHIELD-issued binoculars **_ever_** again. Not that the scars on their bodies weren't enough reminders of that. But anyway, ever since the day she found it in her locker, the binoculars just sort of became an inside joke between them. Hell, now she wasn't even sure if she could ever look at a pair of binoculars again without thinking of it as some kind of prop for black comedy.

Incidentally though, that day was also the first time Natasha came across Clint’s particular propensity towards dark humor, especially right after near-death experiences. And later on, as they became closer, she had learned from Clint himself that it was just his default way of dealing with close calls – by turning everything into a joke.

He said that he had to. Or else he wouldn’t be able to go home and look Laura in the eye without breaking apart.

Such was the life of a top field agent in the world’s leading intelligence agency, so it seemed. Sometimes, it felt like they were standing right on the line between sanity and insanity. On rare occasions, even that line got too blur, and they’d sway between the two sides. At least laughing about things could give them the resemblance of normalcy which they both desperately needed during those times.

So yeah, in a way, she kinda understood.

In fact, she could completely relate to it. Because she was of that exact same mindset. Going out there, she would shroud her body behind layers of Kevlar. But coming back, she’d build a wall of sarcasm around her heart, hiding herself behind humor, pushing the pain into the deepest and darkest crevice of her mind. To her, it was an essential life philosophy. To keep sane. And to be able to keep coming back to the job day after day without completely burning out. The idea was simple: better to laugh at everything rather than to let themselves be consumed by darkness.

No sense in adding more darkness into their lives when their jobs were dark enough as they were.

She still remembered that morning after Budapest, right after their debriefing session with Fury, when she and Clint stumbled out of the conference room, giggling like schoolgirls because of some offhand remark she’d made:

 _“You know, Clint? I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much_ **fury** _on Fury’s face…”_

It had been uttered in a completely tongue-in-cheek manner.

She’d just wanted to keep things light after everything they went through. But there’d been a brief silence after she said it, where they both just looked at each other, still in complete disbelief that they’d somehow made it out of Budapest in one piece. And then seconds later, once the air cleared, they both clutched at their stomachs and began laughing like they hadn’t laughed in years. They laughed everything away. And the fact that they’d both come so close to losing their lives in Budapest was reduced to nothing more than ebbing echoes in some hallway at the Triskelion.

Budapest, was a legitimate cluster fuck.

That mission went completely pear-shaped.

 _Nothing_ in that mission went right. Nothing.

Their intel was inaccurate.

They were completely outnumbered.

Their enemies had bigger guns than them.

They were in unfamiliar, foreign terrain.

And worst?

Their mission equipment.

Pfft.

Actually, it was _worse_ than _worst._

Because the mission gear they were provided with was absolute _shit._

In fact, **_the_** main (if not the only) reason that their mission in Budapest went all ‘Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot, over?’ was because the fucking binoculars provided to them were………wait for it…

Incapable of night vision.

Their surveillance gear.

 _Incapable._ Of night vision.

No night vision. On a _night_ _mission_.

Really.

See, back then, STRIKE Team Delta (aka she and Clint) was deployed for a mission to terminate the leader of some Hungarian nuclear-terrorist group who was, according to SHIELD’s ‘intel’, hiding out in some nuclear laboratory in Budapest.

But in the end, it turned out that the ‘intel’ had underestimated the security detail at the laboratory.

 _Severely_ underestimated.

Upon arrival, they’d found out that there were actually more than 200 guys guarding the lab instead of the presupposed 50, all armed to the teeth.

But that was fine. Because they had a plan, she and Clint. They always had a plan. And the plan was for Clint to take out the leader from afar as soon as the leader stepped outside the lab.

And the plan’s execution involved the both of them staking out on some tree about 300 feet away from the building, with Clint’s bow and arrow at the ready. And the moment the target showed, they’d snuff him, and then evac.

It was a good plan. The tree was nice. Covert, hidden from sight and all that.

Except that it was dark.

So dark that even Clint had to utilize night-vision for him to be able see anything……

_“Clint, you all set?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Is the target in sight?”_

_“Errrr………”_

_“Err…?”_

_“Hmm….”_

_“What?”_

_“Nat… I think we_ might _have a problem.”_

 _“Nope, Clint. You_ **are** **not** _taking a leak from up here. Not this time.”_

_Clint snorted._

_“Very funny, Tasha.”_

_“Yeah? Can’t say that it never happened before.” She said dryly._

_“It was_ **ONE TIME** _.”_

_Natasha chuckled._

_“So, what’s the problem? I mean…aside from your bladder issues.”_

_“It’s too dark. Even I can’t see a damn thing from up here.”_

_“Actually, that’s fine, I think they gave us night vision.”_

_“Yeah? Pass it to me, I wanna see if I can get a clear shot.”_

_“Hang on a sec, I’ll check.”_

_“Think he’ll show up tonight?”_

_“Guess we’ll find out soon enough…Umm, Clint, there’s only a pair of binoculars here.”_

_“No night vision goggles?”_

_“Nope. Just the binoculars.”_

_“But it’s got night vision, right?”_

_“There_ should _be. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense otherwise.” Natasha said._

_“You sure there aren’t any goggles?” Clint asked._

_“No. So? Do you want the binoculars or not?”_

_Clint paused for a moment, as if weighing his options._

_“Meh. That’ll do. But you’ll have to hold it to my eyes later when I take the shot.”_

_“Here.”_

_Clint took it._

_And then……_

_“Fuck! You’ve gotta be kidding me.”_

_Natasha rolled her eyes._

_“What is it now, Clint?”_

_“There’s no night vision on this thing!” He hissed._

_“Check the bottom. There’s usually a switch.”_

_“I know that. But I’m telling you, this one has no fucking switch!”_

_“What? No way.”_

_“Here, see for yourself.”_

_Natasha ran her fingers over the device._

_“Shit. There’s no switch.” Natasha said._

_Clint snorted._

_“Yeah. Good eye, Agent Obvious."_

_“Hey, wait, wait. I think I found it, it’s on top.”_

_“Eh, no, don’t press that, Nat. That’s the-”_

_Too late._

_She’d already pressed it down._

_The button of doom._

_It was the laser sights._

_The binoculars’ laser sights, which emitted a beam of highly focused red laser from their hideout, straight onto a guard’s face._

_“Oh, motherfucker.”_

_Those were Clint’s last words before a hail of bullets rained down upon them._

200 men turned out to be more than 500, by the way. A bunch of them had been hiding out in the lab’s basement.

But still.

500 men with guns? Pfft. No problem. STRIKE Team Delta for the win.

Well, tough night, but they’d both made it out. Not unscathed, but alive nonetheless.

Leaving behind a trail of dead bodies, of course. Oh, and not before sticking an arrow between the target’s eyes, too.

In the end, albeit a little messy, the mission was a success.

Fury had been absolutely furious though.

Then again, who wouldn’t be?

Just imagine SHIELD nearly losing its two best field agents in one night. And because of what? A rig malfunction. How ridiculous was that? 

That morning, during their debriefing, Fury flipped. _Literally_.

In a fit of _fury_ , Fury flipped over his entire desk, right in front of everyone.

And boy, what a sight that was.

Even Deputy Director Maria Hill, the ‘ice queen’ of SHIELD, and the woman with the second best poker face in the world (pfft, _please_ , nobody beats the Black Widow in poker faces, ever), flinched at that outburst.

Naturally, the Special ~~Garbage~~ Agent in charge of that Op took the full brunt of Fury’s wrath. Fired, right on the spot, and was ordered never to show his face before Nick Fury ever again, unless he wanted to sport a bullet hole right in the nut sack. That threat was kinda real, by the way, since Fury damn near pulled his side arm on the poor dude.  

Hell, even HR caught major shit that morning, with Fury saying that SHIELD HR should “take a goddamn page out of fucking American Dumpster’s book” because right then, SHIELD was “really looking like the worst case scenario in the history of _trash management_ ”. 

At that distant memory, Natasha had to suppress a laugh.

_God._

_That seems so long ago._

How many years had it been already, she wondered.

Anyway, ever since that day, everyone at SHIELD knew better than to get onto Nick Fury’s shit list. Well, everyone……except her. Because she knew Fury always had a soft spot for her. If he didn’t, she’d be long dead already.

She smirked, and glanced down at her wrist watch.

_Two more minutes._

From her tactical duffle, she procured 2 magazines, 10 rounds each, and clipped them onto her thighs.

Pulling out another two, Natasha loaded them both into her twin Glock 26s.  

CLICK! CLICK!

40 rounds in total.

One for each head, with a little bit of extra.

She had already located the surveillance cams’ blind spots earlier. It was a small circular sector, about 30 degrees wide, with a radius of roughly 50 feet. In theory, that should lead her straight to the facility’s backdoor, undetected.

_Amateurs._

She also found 2 smoke grenades among her gear, and decided to take them along too. The grenades went to her waist, clipped onto her utility belt.

She glanced ahead, towards her target. The building’s compound was clear. So now she only had to find a way to get past the wire fences without looking like she’d just wrestled down a giant porcupine.

Meh.  

Barbed-wires. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

Reaching down once more, she grabbed the only tool she would need for the barbed-wires: an all-powerful, portable laser cutter.

She stood up, and ran down her battle plan one last time.

_Cut the fence. Move along the blind spot. Reach the back door. Break the locks. Launch smoke grenades. Charge in. Pop heads. Destroy facility. Evac._

She holstered one of her Glocks while placing a silencer over the other.

_Show time._

 

_*     *     *_

 

It was only when she was standing beside the wire fences that her senses started tingling.

Something was amiss.

_Where are all the damn guards?_

ZING… ZING…ZING…

The laser cutter in her hand came to life. Pieces of dry sod scattered, sizzling and crackling, scalded by the beam of highly energized photons. 

A glowing red illuminated her black tactical boots.

She actually expected quite some resistance tonight. Probably about 3 dozen armed hostiles.

But right then, it was so…… _quiet._

Shit.

Did they know she was coming?

Did somebody tip them off?

If that was the case, then it could only mean one thing: _is there a mole in SHIELD?_

Damn. This whole thing could be a setup……

Yeah, you know what?

Fuck it.

She could totally be walking into a trap here, but right then, she honestly didn’t care. She was infiltrating the place. End of story. These scumbags were responsible for over 80% of the drug activities in the world and not to mention over a _hundred_ deaths of law enforcement officers. And now, what? She was supposed to just walk away? Uh………How about _no fucking way_. Nope. None of these scums weren’t getting away tonight. Not on her watch.  

Agent Romanoff steeled her resolve. She had to do this. If any, this was one risk she was willing to take. Call it for the greater good or whatever. Maybe she just wanted to kick some butt tonight.

_You’re all going down, assholes._

And hey, maybe she could even try to ferret out who the mole in SHIELD was. If there was any. 

These bastards wouldn’t even see her coming. Just watch her.

Natasha pulled out a tiny magnetic disk from her belt and then threw it at the fence.

It flew.

CLINK!

Got stuck to the wires. 

And then…

Nothing.

No sparks.

Natasha snorted.

 _So it_ **really** _is non-electrified._

Whatever.

For the next few minutes, Natasha watched the steel wires melt under the laser’s heat, all the while paying extra heed to keep the red glow hidden from the cameras. She made a circular cut. Just wide enough for her to comfortably slip through.

Slipping through the fence, Natasha scrutinized ahead, preparing herself for any surprises. With her left foot, she tested the ground for loose soil. Didn’t want to step on any hidden traps.

_Land mines?_

_Trip wires?_

Well.

Only one way to find out.

Holstering her Glock, she pulled out ten more magnetic disks, and flung them all out towards the path she’d planned to take. That way, she’d know if there were anything metal (landmines usually were) hidden on the ground along the path. In her line of work, one could never be too careful, no matter how easy the task seemed.

The disks lay motionlessly on the ground.

_No landmines._

She hunkered down, and waited.

Something soft tickled her cheekbones.

_Mexican feather grass._

Hovering low on the ground, she switched the laser cutter into torch mode. And that would emit a beam of low intensity line laser which she could then use to detect any hidden tripwires on the ground.

Minutes later, after ascertaining the absence of any booby traps whatsoever, Natasha put the device away.

Satisfied, she gave the entire terrain another investigative once over. Just to be sure. 

The entire grounds comprised of a meadow. Unweeded.

The air was bathed in a thick scent of loam. And if she really strained her olfactory senses, she could even detect a slight fetor of meth. Well, at least she could now be certain that she’d come to the right place, since the wiretapped drug dealer did mention something about it being a meth lab. 

_But seriously, where are all the goddamn guards?_

She un-holstered one of her Glocks again.

Slowly, she crept forward. 

She wouldn’t have to fret about the cameras, since she’d cut the fence at the section which directly intersected the cameras’ blind spots. So, by right, she should be within the blind spot the moment she slipped past the wire fence.

Lowering her Glock onto the ground, she took out the Equinox-Z once again, but this time, she zoomed in on the warehouse. 

It was dark up front.

But she could still see the warehouse’s outline even without the night vision. With its aged metal walls and shabby steel door, the building looked extremely démodé, almost historical. There were no windows or hatches. Basically, no other openings that could prevent her from having to pick open that lock at the back door. Of course, there was always the air shaft about 50 feet to her right. But she swore she wasn’t going anywhere near that thing unless she wanted to become a _real_ drug addict.

She zoomed in on the back door.

_Too dark, can’t get a clear view._

The night vision came on.

_Solid steel door._

The laser cutter should do the trick, so she could just cut a hole on the door and slip through. Hah! Now she didn’t even have to pick the-

_Shit._

_What the_ **fuck** _was that?_

She saw something.

Something on the door.

She zoomed the device to its maximum setting, focusing the view on the lock.

_Standard padlock..._

But there was something else sticking out from the lock’s keyhole. Something black, and slender.

“Oh you’ve gotta be **_kidding_** me.” She muttered.

_That better not be what I think it is._

From her crouching position, Natasha shot up, and sped towards the door: only to find out that it was _exactly_ what she thought it was.

The shank of the padlock was completely busted.

And from the keyhole, she pulled out an arrow.

There was a note attached to it:

  _You’re late :)_

Son of a bitch.

 

*     *     *

 

“Name me _one_ reason I shouldn’t be kicking your ass right now for barging in tonight and stealing all my prey.”

Natasha had waltzed in to see Clint Barton, smug bastard that he was, standing right on top of Antonio Carlos’ dead body, twirling an arrow in his right hand nonchalantly, like as if this was just another one of his target practice nights.

“Err…‘cuz I miss you? Haven’t seen you since last week, Nat. And you haven’t been to the farm. I’m starting to think that we’re no longer friends.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m _busy_.” Natasha paused her strides suddenly and took in the mess of dead bodies strewn all over the place, most of them with arrows stuck in their chests. And then she shot Clint a glare, “Not anymore, apparently.”

Clint shrugged her off, “Laura says hi.”

“If this is you trying to even my score in Budapest, Clint, then you should know that you’re still down by one point.” Natasha shot back, sashaying past rows and rows of limp corpses towards where Clint was standing.

Clint scoffed, “Hey!!! How many times do I have to tell you that the two-headed _weirdo_ back then only counts as one!”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Whatever. Why are you here, Clint?”

“To get you back to base. Fury’s got a mission for us.”

Natasha felt an involuntary pinch between her brows, “What mission?”

“He didn’t say. Just asked us to be ready in…” Clint took out his phone, “about an hour from now.”

“Sounds serious.” Natasha remarked, pulling Clint into a tight hug, “How’s little Coop doing?”

“Little Coop is…well, _bigger_ Coop now. And he’s fine.” Clint rolled his eyes, “Getting cheekier and sassier each day though.”

“Wonder where he learnt that from.” Clint muttered under his breath.

Natasha smirked, “Well, what can I say? He likes me.”

Clint smiled, “You’re damn right he does. Asked about you every day, you know.”

Natasha smiled genuinely, “Really?”

“Yeah.” Clint snorted, “That little rug rat. Talks about you even more than his own dad. Like, can you believe that?! His own _DAD!_ Seriously, everything that comes out of his mouth is just Auntie Nat this and Auntie Nat that.” Clint paused his bitching and threw her a look, “Laura even thinks he’s developed a crush on you.”

“Aww…that’s so sweet.” Natasha placed both hands over her heart and gave Clint the doe-eyes.

Clint narrowed his eyes, “Hold on a second, Nat, you’re not actually considering…? Wait… _Wait,_ okay, okay. Hold on right there. Let’s just be _very_ clear on one thing…alright? There won’t _ever_ , and I mean _EVER_ , be a need for me to give you the shovel talk now, will there?”

Amused at Clint’s outburst, Natasha decided to tease a little.

With a finger on her jaw, she drawled, “Hmm…how many more years till he turns 18, I wonder...? Maybe I can officially move into the farm by then?” Natasha let out a dreamy sigh, “Imagine his own Auntie Nat guiding him through the first steps of adulthood. Perfect, isn’t it? So. What do you think, Clint? Think Laura would approve? And oh, we could have a small wedding. Nothing too fancy. Just you, and Laura, and you know, the immediate family. We could set up an altar in your garage…and then there’ll be flowers and everything.”

Natasha turned to Clint, still with that faux dreamy look plastered on her face.

The look on Clint’s face right then could only be described as absolutely, and _comically_ , horrified.

Natasha guffawed, “Oh, come on, I’m _kidding_!! Jesus, Clint. You actually believed all that crap?”

The look of horror transformed into that of relief.

“You _suck_.” Clint grumbled.

Natasha snickered. “Don’t worry, Clint. You can tell Cooper that Auntie Nat’s off limits.”

Clint grunted, “Just imagine _you_ being my daughter in law.” Clint shuddered, “I could kiss Fury on the lips and it still wouldn’t get weirder than that.”

Natasha chuckled, “So when’s the second one due?”

“Soon. Another 5 months.”

“Yeah? How’s the missus doing?”

“Nausea’s subsided. Could feel the baby’s kicks already.”

Natasha hummed. “Decided on a name yet?” she asked.

“Pretty much?”

“It’s either a yes or a no, Clint.” said Natasha dryly.  

Clint shrugged, “We’ve narrowed it down to either Lila or Lillian.”

Natasha’s green eyes twinkled. “You know we have an agent named Lillian, right? In accounting? And I hear she’s got piercings in _interesting_ places.” Natasha said.

Clint cringed, “Eh. Lila it is, then.”

Out of nowhere, Natasha levelled Clint with a look of suspicion, and then she proceeded to give Clint’s form a thorough once over.

“What?” asked Clint.

All of a sudden, Natasha seized Clint at the shoulders and turned him around sharply.

“Nat, what-”

She yanked down Clint’s pants.

Clint smirked. 

“Gee. Didn’t know you ever thought about me that way, Nat. I’m honored, but I’m kinda taken you know?”

In response, Natasha jabbed at the bloody patch that was his left butt cheek.

“Ouch! Ouch! Easy…easy! _Jesus!_ ”

“You were shot.” Natasha said in a tone of amusement, “In the _ass._ ”

Clint tugged his pants back up hurriedly and shrugged, obviously playing it down, “Bastard got lucky.”

Natasha burst into a fit of laughter, “You got shot in the _ass_.”

Clint threw the arrow at her, the one that he had been smugly twirling just moments ago.

“Stop _laughing_. It was an accident!” He growled.

“Sorry…” Natasha managed in between chuckles, “Sorry…God, Clint. You know that’s never ever gonna get old, right?”

Clint rolled his eyes.

“Hey, if you’re done _giggling_ over there, then it’s time to go.”

“Triskelion?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a quinjet lined up.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Not far. About 15 minutes walking distance. You good to walk?” Clint asked.

Natasha threw him a get-real look, “You think?”

“Well, you do look kinda pale. Not sure if you could make it to the jet if we walk.” Clint teased.

Natasha smirked.

“Says the guy who got shot in the ass.” She fired back.

“Hey, I said _watch_ _it_ , Tasha.” Clint gritted.

Natasha laughed, “C’mon Clint, let’s torch this place, and then we’ll go.”

“What about the dead guys?”

“I’m supposed to make it look like an accident. But I honestly don’t care at this point. Hey, have you seen any combustibles around here?”

“There’s a bunch of acetone out front.” Clint suggested.

“Right. Can you go get that? I’m gonna deal with these bodies for a minute, ID them and stuff.”

“Sure. And I’m gonna try starting the fire out front.”

At Clint’s mention of ‘fire’, Natasha’s eyes sparkled teasingly.

“And for God’s sakes, Clint,” Natasha smirked, “keep your ass out of the ‘ ** _line of fire_** ’ this time.”

Clint gave her the finger.

 

*     *     *

 

**Sunday, 12:20AM, 15 th April 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Triskelion, SHIELD Headquarters, Washington D.C, United States of America**

Natasha strutted into Nick Fury’s office, with Clint lagging only a few steps behind.

She fired off the first salvo, “I gotta say, Nick. This is quite dramatic. Even for you.”

The Director of SHIELD swiveled his chair around to face the two arriving agents.

“You’re late, Agent Romanoff.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been generous with your heads-ups, Nick. I didn’t know squat until this one,” she trained her thumb at Clint, “decided to gatecrash my Op.”

Clint scoffed from behind her, “I think you’re forgetting something here, Nat. I _completed_ your mission. _For_ you.”

Natasha shot daggers at her longtime partner, wishing she could find a way to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. She could start by telling the Director about the GSW on his sorry ass.

“Enough! We don’t have time for this shit.” The Director’s voice boomed across the entire office.

“Computer, secure office. And initiate lockdown mode.” The Director ordered. Natasha and Clint looked warily at each other, any hints of banter now dissipated.

_“Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff have insufficient clearance to engage in a lockdown environment.”_

“Director override. Fury, Nicholas J.”

_“Confirmed.”_

In an instant, a low hum of machinery reverberated in the background.

6 sharp clicks ensued, followed by the immediate darkening of the room as the Washington DC night-view behind the Director’s desk evanesced.

Soon, even the chatter outside the office and the fortissimo DC traffic became inaudible.

The lockdown mode was designed to provide air-tight security for any confined office spaces within a SHIELD facility. If activated, everything in the office’s interior would be wholly isolated from its exterior. Everything would be blocked out. Noises. Communications. Even heat signatures. In other words, an office in lockdown mode was the real-life equivalent of a black box 

There could only be one reason for Nick to initiate a lockdown mode now.  

_This is top secret._

“I need you both on a mission.” Director Fury led in.

“What mission?” Natasha asked cautiously. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Clint unslinging his recurve bow from his shoulder, and then leaning it against the front edge of Nick’s desk.

“They found Captain America’s body…”

“Holy shit…” Clint whispered.

The Director continued, “…and your mission, Agents, is to bring his body back into US soil.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

_Seriously, Nick?_

“So…what? Now you want us to arrange a funeral? I didn’t know that SHIELD runs undertaking services these days, Nick. What’s next on the agenda, huh? Funeral catering? Flower arranging? Sure, why not. I’d totally love to arrange nice little American-themed flower garlands or cute little head-bands for the rich and snobbish who would surely be swarming this _legendary_ funeral. Sounds fun. Hey, we can even do it with the stars and stripes too, if that’s still à la mode.” Natasha mocked sarcastically.

Director Fury stared back at her in an expression of utter shock.

Okay. Fine. She might have been a little bit over enthusiastic with the sarcasm and everything. But in all fairness, it could be due to all the fucking meth she’d inhaled. She just got back from torching a goddamn meth lab, for Christ’s sake. She hadn’t even _showered_ yet.

And then Fury laughed.

Natasha raised her brows. Perhaps another Black Widow styled oration was required. This time with the sarcasm quadrupled.

“Who said _anything_ about a funeral, Agent Romanoff?”

_What the-_

Natasha’s eyes widened.

_No._

_No. Fucking. Way._

“You mean…?” Natasha’s lips parted slightly.

Nick Fury smirked.

“Guy’s still _alive_ …?” Clint stated in shock.

“Damn right he is, Agent Barton. But now we have a bigger problem.” Fury ran a hand over his eye patch, “On the 14th of April, around 3AM, a Russian oil team stumbled across the hull of a strange fighter jet somewhere out in the Artic. Those guys thought it was extraterrestrial. So they notified SHIELD. And we’ve sent down a couple of agents to check it out. According to their preliminary reports, that jet, was none other than the missing Valkyrie from 67 years ago. And it also contained the frozen body of Captain America.”

“Okay, so, if that’s the case, then why didn’t those agents bring him back straight away?” Clint interrupted.

“That’s exactly the problem, Agent Barton. 2 hours after the SHIELD agents reported their findings back to HQ, a team of soldiers came in and apprehended them.”

Natasha nodded knowingly.

“Russian military…” She said.

“We believe so.”

“So they want custody over Cap’s body.” Natasha deduced.

Director Fury snorted.

“We’re talking about the body of the world’s _only_ supersoldier, Agent Romanoff. Of course they want the body. Everyone wants it.”

“So how do we find him?” Natasha asked.

“You don’t. We’ve already found him.” Fury pointed behind the two agents.

Both agents turned around and stared into the large display screen.

“Access Level Alpha files. Captain Rogers’ location.” Fury ordered the AI.

_“Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff have insufficient clearance for file access.”_

“Director override. Fury, Nicholas J.”

_“Confirmed.”_

A world map flashed across the screen, zooming into Russia. Somewhere north. Near the coast line of East Siberian Sea.

“Chersky, Sakha Republic, Russia.” Fury said.

“Wait." Natasha raised a brow, "How, exactly, did you track down that location?” She asked.

“Through the quick thinking of those SHIELD agents that were sent down to the Artic earlier. They managed to plant a GPS device on Cap before they were apprehended by the Russians.”

“But why take him to this…Chersky place? Place looks dead. What’s over there?” Clint asked.

“We believe there’s a-” Fury said before the redhead cut him off.

“The Northeast Science Station. It’s a Russian-owned scientific research center. I know that place. I’ve been there before.” Natasha stated knowingly.

Fury nodded, “No one knows Russia better than you do, Agent Romanoff. And that’s why it is crucial for you to be part of this mission.”

“Any idea what they are doing to him at the moment?” Natasha asked.

“Most probably thawing him out. But we gotta move fast, people. I’ll be _damned_ before I let anyone go all ‘Frankenstein’ on Captain America’s body.”

Natasha had to suppress a snicker at that comment.

Sure, he might be a little overdramatic at times, but Nick Fury was also well known to possess a super smart mouth. Second only to her own.

“So……we’re supposed to, what? Just break in? And steal it?” Clint asked incredulously.

“If necessary, Agent Barton.”

The two agents eyed each other skeptically.

The Director sighed.

“Alright, listen. The Kremlin is giving us a lot of headaches right now. They are holding claim over the body on the grounds that it was first discovered by a team of Russian citizens. The Whitehouse had been reaching out for a negotiation, repeatedly. But none of those attempts were reciprocated.” The Director shook his head, “Like I said, folks, everyone wants the body of Captain America.”

“But technically, he’s still an American citizen.” Natasha said.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. They already _have_ the body in their hands. They own all the cards at this point. And we need to _change_ that. Fast.” Fury said pointedly.

“But what about the consequences? If we do this, then we’d be breaking, what, like, a hundred international laws?” Clint said.

“Just leave the politics to us.”

“Who’s us?” Natasha asked.

“Me, President Ellis, and the World Security Council. Look, I’ll take a few days off SHIELD, drop by the Whitehouse, and then together with the President, we’ll find ways to smooth out the political consequences. You two just worry about getting the good Captain _back home._ That’s all I’m asking." 

A brief silence ensued before Clint spoke, “It’s not gonna be easy. We’re walking straight into Russian turf here. God knows how much resistance we’ll meet over there. If it comes down to a full firefight, this’ll be even worse than Budapest. And what if they lock us out?”

“Which is _why_ I am assigning this mission to the best field agents I have. To ensure that nothing bad happens.” Fury stated sternly.

The two agents went silent, both in serious contemplation.

“You two are the best I’ve got. And if you two can’t complete this mission, then there’s nobody else at SHIELD who can.” Fury said.

“Anyone else coming with us?” Clint asked.

“Agent Coulson will oversee the mission. And Agent May will be there as backup. They’re getting things ready as we speak.”

Clint nodded and picked up his bow.

“What about those agents who were captured?” Natasha asked.

“Kept in Moscow. But we’ve already mobilized 3 STRIKE Units for their extraction. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“When do we leave, Sir?” Clint asked.

“Now.” Fury nodded to the door.

The two agents turned to leave.

“Agents.”

They stopped, and pivoted around to face their boss.

Director Fury levelled them with a pointed but slightly hopeful look.

“Get us back our golden boy.”

“Yes, sir.” They both said.

 

*     *     *

 

**Monday, 9:14PM, 16 th April 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: NYC bound Quinjet, Russian Airspace.**

**Mission Details: The Retrieval of Captain America’s body**

**Mission Status: Completed**

“You alright, Barton?” Agent Melinda May questioned.

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been walking funny all day.” May pointed out.

A quick smirk took over Natasha’s features as she pivoted in her seat to look at Clint.

“Yeah, Clint? What’s wrong with you? Why _were_ you walking funny all day?” Natasha crossed her legs, folding her hands neatly over her knees.

Clint’s eyes shot daggers at the redhead.

He cleared his throat, “Just pulled something.” He said, the glare never leaving his face.

“Well, I hope it’s nothing too serious…” Coulson said, setting down the vibranium shield (God. _Finally_ ) on an unoccupied seat, “‘cuz you have another assignment coming up.”

Clint waved it off casually, “Nah. I’m good to go.”

Teasingly, Natasha let out a throaty sound of disapproval.

“You sure, Clint? I mean, you don’t look so hot today…” Natasha feigned a look of concern, mischief twinkled in her eyes, like a pair of sparkling green diamonds, “and not to mention you’re _sitting_ kinda funny too.” With that, Natasha’s hand poked forcefully at Clint’s left hip, near the G.S.W. on his butt cheek.

Clint flinched away. But she’d have to give him credit for keeping up his poker face though. Because that poke right there? That must have hurt like a bitch.

“I’m _fine_.” Clint growled.

“You don’t look fine.” Natasha persisted.

“Just a little off form.” Clint deflected.

 _You’re toast, Clint._ Thought her inner mischievous self. 

“Off form. Huh.” She feigned thinking hard, “You know……It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in such _‘bottom’_ form…” She paused and smirked, “You wanna know what I think? I think you should get your _ass_ into a medical bay as soon as we land. Maybe get your _ass_ checked out.”

“You know what, Nat? You’re a-” Clint blurted out before he held back in the end.

“I’m a what?” Natasha crossed her arms smugly, “A **_pain_** in your **_ass_**?”

_Oh, this is getting too good._

Natasha bit her lip in glee.

Clint downright scowled, “You _talk_ too much, Tasha.”

“Just worried about you is all. Don’t want you to get your _ass_ caught in the line of fire in your next mission.” She teased mercilessly.

An arrow flew in from her right, aimed at her breasts. She caught it between her fingers and flashed her surrogate brother a cheeky grin.

“Is it just me…or did Romanoff just mention the word ‘ass’ multiple times?” Agent May observed, her tone highly amused.

“Nope. It’s not just you, May.” Coulson said.

“So. What gives? What’s with the ‘ass’ thing?” May prodded, her question aimed at Clint.

Clint cleared his throat twice, harshly.

“ _Nothing_. Just pulled a muscle.”

May raised a brow, “You mean you pulled your _glutes_. The **_ass_** muscle.”

Clint threw his hands up in exasperation, “Jesus… ** _Christ_**.”

Natasha couldn’t suppress her mirth anymore. She burst out laughing. The hands on her knee flew towards her mouth. 

“Where’s the assignment at?” Clint asked gruffly.

 _Clearly_ an attempt to change the subject.

 _Well played, Clint._  

“Mojave Desert.” Coulson said brusquely.

Mojave Desert. That was where the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility was located.

“P.E.G.A.S.U.S?” Natasha asked when her laughter subsided.

Coulson nodded, “Yep.”

Clint frowned, “Why would they need me there? It’s not like I know much about the Tesseract.”

“They want you to watch Selvig.”

“You think he’s dirty…” Clint said.

“Can’t tell yet. But we have reports saying that he’s been acting strange.”

“Someone’s coming after the Tesseract…” Natasha observed ever so keenly.

Coulson sighed, “That’s what Fury thought too. It’s… _strange_.” He said.

“What is?” Natasha asked.

“Selvig’s behavior.”

“I thought you guys ran full background checks before getting him onboard.” Natasha said.

“We did. Turned out squeaky clean.” Coulson paused briefly, “I’ve known Selvig from the New Mexico incident. Nice guy. Even spoke to him a couple times. But after Fury recruited him into P.E.G.A.S.U.S? It’s like he’s changed into a completely different person. His behavior doesn’t add up.”

A bone-chilling silence pervaded, interrupted only by the consistent beeps of Captain Rogers’ heart monitor.

“Hypnosis? Drugs? Some kind of mind control?” Clint suggested.

Coulson shook his head, “We don’t know.” He paused, and turned pointedly to Clint, “That’s what Fury wants you to find out about.”

“When do I start?”

Coulson’s eyes flicked towards the life support cradle mounted at the center of the cabin, “We’ll drop off Cap’s body in NYC, and then I’ll have to take you straight back into D.C., Fury wants to see you first.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint affirmed.

“And Cap?” Natasha asked.

“He’ll be placed under maximum supervision in SHIELD NYC…yeah, which reminds me, I gotta find someone to watch over him…somebody we can trust.” Coulson sighed, “After that incident with the Russians, I don’t want any more surprises.”

“I’ll do it.” Natasha jumped in, perhaps a tad bit too quickly. And all of a sudden, all eyes were on her. A wave of heat crept up her neck.

She had no idea why she said it, but she did.

It sort of just……came out.

“I’m at a loose end. Got nothing on my hands at the moment.” She clarified almost immediately after.

“You sure? You just got back from an undercover mission. Thought you might want a break.” Coulson said.

Natasha waved it off, “Nah. It’s fine. Besides, I miss New York. Figured I could stay there for a while.”

“Alright.”

_“Incoming Urgent Call. Secure line 5523. Requesting immediate response.”_

“I’ll get it.” May said brusquely and headed for the cockpit.

Seconds later, the cockpit’s door slammed shut.

“You know…I never thought we’d ever find him again…” Coulson said dreamily, eyes trained on the cradle.

Natasha groaned. “There he goes again…” she said, rolling her eyes.

Coulson snorted, “What? He’s a role model. I’m entitled to feel a little excited.”

Clint chuckled, “You sure that’s all he is? A role model? Cuz it’s sounding more and more like a man-crush.”

“Hey, Clint, have I told you about the trading cards?” Natasha teased.

“What trading cards?”

“Phil’s Captain America Card Collection. He’s got the full set. Took him like, 4 years, to collect them all. At least now he can get Rogers to sign them.” Natasha jibed.

Clint snickered.

“Hey! They’re vintage.” Coulson cleared his throat, “Near mint.” He added, and not without pride.

THUD!

The door to the cockpit reopened, and Agent May poked her head out, “Coulson. It’s Director Fury.”

“Excuse me.” Coulson got up, leaving Natasha alone with Clint.

Feeling a wave of fatigue coursing through her body, Natasha leaned back against her seat and stretched out her legs. She glanced at Clint, who was already absorbed in the task of polishing his arrowheads. Even after over a decade of knowing Clint, she’d never truly understood the need for all that polishing. Maybe the polishing gave the arrows better aerodynamics or something.

Natasha let her eyes roam over the entire space of the quinjet’s cabin. Everywhere. Everywhere…… _except_ the one place she knew in her heart that she wanted to just _glue_ her eyes onto.

_He’s just another man._

_He’s just another man…_

_No need to get your panties in a bunch, Natalia._

Pfft. She’d seen a lot of guys before. Lots of them. And up close.

This was nothing special.

_He’s just another guy, Natalia._

_Just another human being with XY chromosomes._

Even though he did save the world 67 years ago…

And not _at all_ hard on the eyes either…

 _Oh what the hell._ She gave in. And stared at the object, or rather, the _person_ , of her interest.

She didn’t have to look too far though. Because the Captain’s face was literally just right in front of her. Heck, she could even reach out and touch if she wanted to.

The cradle was secured in the space between the two rows of seats. With each row facing the center, or, facing each other. That was the standard seating configuration in all SHIELD-owned quinjets. It’d make pre-mission and post-mission briefings so much easier, since it’d allow all seated agents to face each other.

And come to think of…

Of all the seats available, why _did_ she pick this particular seat, the one that would give her such an up-close view of the blonde supersoldier’s face?

Huh.

Funny.

Nah. She probably just……enjoyed the…… air flow, or something. Yeah. Totally. She liked the air flow she’d get from sitting there. Pfft. Of course. That _must_ be it.

She kept staring. Unblinkingly. Especially at his face.

For some unfathomable reason, she just couldn’t find it in herself to look away.

She couldn’t.

Like as if she was spellbound. Hypnotized. Captivated. Transfixed.  

_God, he looks so……young._

And handsome.

Her fingers involuntarily twitched in her lap.

_So this, is the man, whom the world owed so much of its future to._

She really wondered what the man would feel the moment he opened his eyes. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how tough it would be for him. Waking up to a near seven-decade time skip, with everyone he ever knew being either too old…or worse, dead.

The quinjet jolted vertically, and her gaze flew towards the cockpit, whose doors remained shut.

Clint was still busying himself with his arrows.

And being left completely to her own devices, Natasha felt herself being drawn back towards the Captain’s sleeping profile once again.

_Steven Grant Rogers._

_Born July 4 th 1918\. _

At that thought, Natasha smiled.

This man shared the same birthday with his country. And as if that wasn’t amusing enough, he turned out to be an exceptionally _patriotic_ man, too. Seriously, what were the odds?

_Guess the Universe really does know how to be funny._

This man…

The man who defeated HYDRA.

The little guy who’d enlisted for the U.S. army multiple times despite his physical weaknesses.

_Damn._

_Who_ **are** _you, Rogers?_

There. Right there.

She felt it again right there. That weird…… _sensation_ that she’d been having inside her chest ever since they retrieved the Captain’s body from the Russians.

It was like she had developed this overwhelming….curiosity, about the man.

For instance, she couldn’t help but wonder about his voice, what it would sound like when he speaks. Would it be rough? Commanding? Or would it come with a timbre of the 1940s boyish charm that he was undoubtedly accustomed to: that…gentle, and kind…and the hold-the-door-open-for-you type of charm.

Hell, she even wondered what his eyes’ color would be. Or how his face would look like if he smiled at her. Or how he would look like in a modern, three-piece suit. It was just…Christ, it was like she couldn’t help but find herself developing this _desire_ to establish some sort of connection _…_ with the man. Like a friendship. Or a companionship.

**It was like she couldn’t help but want to be close with him.**

_What the hell are you doing, Natalia?_

Maybe it had something to do with her own personal identity crises? Like, she’d been living with this blood-red ledger for so many years, and now here came this one guy, this… _great_ and _pure_ guy, who literally had ‘good’ written all over his star-spangled existence. Someone with so much good in him that maybe he could balance out, or even wipe out all her red? Maybe he could teach her how to be good?

Point being, she felt _good_ just by _being_ around him.

It was like he’d made her want to be good. _Want_ to be good. Not _need_ to be good. The two were _vastly_ different. The former stemmed from intention, whereas the latter from conscience. Guilty conscience.

Maybe that was why she desired so much to form somewhat of a bond with him?

Because she thought that by surrounding herself with good people like him, then she could somehow be good too?

_You idiot, Natalia._

_You can never be good._

_You’re a monster._

_But maybe… just maybe…_

_Maybe he could save me._   

Natasha clenched her jaw, her hands closed into fists in her lap.

And this time, she did look away.

Because she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done right then if she didn’t. Touch him? Run her hands through his frosty, clumpy, blonde hair? Kiss him on the cheek? Or kiss him on the-

God. What the fuck was _wrong_ with her today?

She pulled in a deep breath and stared down at her feet, at the large SHIELD logo emblazoned right at the center of the quinjet’s flooring. 

Must be those meth from her last undercover mission.

Yeah, it must be.

She didn’t normally behave this way.

Pfft. Please. No man could elicit a ‘ _fangirl’_ response from the Black Widow. Ever. Not even Captain America.

_Nope. Sorry, Steve. Not even you._

_Oh, so it’s ‘Steve’ now, is it?_ A voice inside her mocked.

 _Damn it_.

Fucking meth.

Frustrated, she turned to Clint, hoping to start a conversation with her best friend. At least that could distract her long enough till they landed in NYC.

However, instead of seeing a guy who was busy polishing arrowheads, Natasha was met with Clint’s knowing and slightly smug look.

“What?” She asked sharply.

 _Drop it, Clint. Fucking drop it._  

“You were staring.” Clint nodded towards Ste – _ahem_ , towards the-man-who-shan’t-be-named.

“Uhh…Clint? He’s like, right in front of me, where else am I supposed to look?” Natasha retorted.

Technically, that was true. But the reason she _chose_ that seat however…

Pfft. She was still going with the airflow theory.

“Seems like _somebody_ was having a fangirl moment over there......” Clint goaded, sounding _way_ too smug to be deemed as good for his personal safety.

Natasha threw the same arrow back at the archer, hard, and with the arrowhead aimed at his crotch.

Clint caught the arrow easily.

On second thought, she should’ve aimed the arrow at his bullet-punctured ass.

“Oh? What? So I can’t poke fun at your little fangirl moment, but you can make fun of my-” Clint cut off his own words, a look of regret instantly flashed across his face.

Natasha smirked.

_You seriously need to stop digging your own grave, Clint._

“Make fun of your what, Clint? Say it. I dare you.”

Clint pointed a finger at her, “You were staring at the Cap, Nat. Don’t bother denying it.”

This time it was Clint who smirked.

_Ugh. This guy knows me too well._

“Fine. I stared. So what?”

“Why?”

“I was just…” Natasha shrugged “…thinking _._ ”

“About what?”

“About……” Natasha sighed, “About how _different_ we are, I guess.”

She could literally feel Clint’s eyes on her. Examining her. Dissecting her. But he didn’t say anything.

“I mean,” Natasha extended her right arm forward, gesturing towards the Captain, right at his handsome face, “here’s this good and pure person, a hero with a clean ledger. And I…” Natasha shook her head and sighed, her arm dropped back down onto her lap, “And then there’s _me_. A monster who lies and kills for a living.”

“ _Natasha_. Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, Clint. I know. Sorry. It’s just…I still can’t believe I have all this, you know? A second chance? It still feels like I’m in a dream. Even after all these years.”

Her sight remained transfixed on the cradle, on Captain Rogers’ face. But from her peripheral vision, she noticed Clint putting down all the arrows he’d been holding.

She felt Clint shifting closer to her too.

Natasha let out a bitter chuckle, “You wanna know something funny, Clint?” She swallowed, “Funny thing is, sometimes, my reality feels like a dream. And my dreams?” She released another chuckle, one that was even bitterer than its predecessor, “My dreams, they feel like reality. It’s stupid, right?”

She felt a grip on her bicep.

A brief moment later, she was staring into Clint’s concerned eyes.

“Did I ever tell you why I never pulled the trigger that night?” Clint asked gently.

Natasha shifted uncomfortably in her seat and drew in a ragged breath. Yeah. She still remembered. She remembered everything about that night. Vividly.

That night, on the 31st of January 1998. The night she fought with Clint, in some dark alley somewhere in Moscow. She remembered the exact instant she became aware of the vast difference between Clint and the rest of the men she usually fought with.

The man who stood before her that night had a skill level beyond any opponent she’d ever faced. And right then, from the moment she first laid eyes on him, she just knew, that she’d finally met her match; her equal in terms of skills; someone who could kill her just as easily as she could kill him.

At the end of that fight, when she was down on the ground, with Clint standing over her, his Heckler and Koch aimed straight at her heart, she also realized something else:

She realized that for the very first time in her life, she felt real fear.

Fear.

Fear for her own life.

Fear of death.

She was afraid.

Of death.

“You said…you said it was because you saw fear in my eyes that night…” Natasha whispered.

Clint nodded, and said, “That’s part of it. But that’s not the whole story.”

Natasha looked up.

“Oh.” She said, her expression vacuous.

“You never told me the rest…” She susurrated.

“Do you want to know?”

“I…I guess?”

“There were 3 things. 3 things prevented me from pulling that trigger.”

“Well, I know the first.” Natasha chanced a guess.

Clint shook his head, “No. The one you mentioned just now? That was actually the third. The first thing was there in my mind even before I was in Moscow.”

Natasha stared at the archer, her expression agog.

“Believe it or not, Tasha, when Fury gave me your file, I’d already noticed something in there that had me doubting my directive.”

Clint went on, “Fury had everything on you back then. The Red Room. Your handlers. Your peers. All the things they did to you. Pretty much everything was in that file. But there was this picture of you...”

“What picture?”

“A photo. It was taken while you were still in the academy. You were pointing a gun at something, or someone. You were very young. Maybe in your late teens or something, I don’t know. But it was your _face_ in that photo. Your expression. It was _different_ from everyone else’s in the Red Room…” Clint had a faraway look in his face now.

Clint cleared his throat, “Anyway, one look at your face, and I could tell straight-out that this was a person who didn’t want to take the gun, but was _forced_ to take it.”

“God, Clint. You’re killing me with the suspense here…”

“Pain. I saw pain in your expression, Nat. Emotional pain. Especially in your eyes. So I thought to myself, if a person could feel emotional pain while killing, then is that person truly evil? After I saw that, I kept…I don’t know, entertaining the possibility of saving you, I guess. Kept thinking that maybe you’d be a person worth saving. That maybe it’s worth giving you a second chance instead of taking your life.”

Natasha was truly stunned by the revelation. Shell-shocked. Even after all these years, Clint never told her any of this.

“So. That was the first thing.” Clint said.

“And the second?” Natasha flashed an expectant look.

Clint smiled, but he said nothing.

Natasha nudged the archer with her knee, her chin making a quick upward jerk, “The second?”

Clint eyed the redhead in amusement.

“I’ll tell you only if you agree to visit the farm.” He said.

“Fine. I’ll visit. Tell me.”

_Bite._

_Bite it._

_Bite the bait._

_Bite. It._

Clint smirked, “Nice try, Tasha.” Clint pointed at her, “I’ll tell you when you’re _at the farm._ ”

Natasha rolled her eyes affectionately.

_He knows me too damn well._

“You’re not a monster, Natasha. I’m sure of it.”

Natasha snorted, “Yeah? How?”

“Call it the infallible visual prowess of The Hawk.”

“ _You_ , Barton, are so full of shit.” Natasha smirked.

“Look, you can say whatever you want, Nat.” Clint picked up his arrows again, “I never miss. The Hawk sees all.”

“Bet your butt cheek would disagree.” She jibed.

Clint groaned, “And you just _have_ to ruin the moment, don’t you?”

“Told you, Clint. Never getting old.”

What ensued then was Clint letting out a string of curses. Or perhaps more arrow-polishing on his part and more supersoldier-gawking on her part.

The Captain lay peacefully still. Restful and tranquil. The colors had already returned to his face. His cheeks, they looked almost rosy now. Must be _some_ serum they gave him.

All of a sudden, a strange but slightly amusing thought crossed Natasha’s mind.

It was a little funny, because she realized that if it wasn’t because of the Captain (or rather, because of the fact that she was _ogling_ the Captain), then she wouldn’t even have found out anything at all about Clint’s reasons for sparing her life. And in a way, this kinda put a little bit of truth in the notion that she _felt_ like she was a good person whenever she was around the Captain. Well, it was certainly true in this case, since the Captain had indirectly ‘prompted’ Clint to reveal to her all those things that reminded her of her own goodness. 

It was a little mind-blowing, if she was honest.

It was like his mere presence could literally bring out the good inside her (if she had any), either directly or indirectly.

Strange, but true.

That night, on the 31st of January, 1998, she was given a second chance.

But tonight, on the 16th of April, 2012, was the night she found out the reason she was given that second chance. It was the night she was told that there might be some good in her after all. And _incidentally_ , it was also the night she first met Captain America.

Huh.

Anyway.

Coincidence or not, she really felt like Captain America had played an indirect role in what she’d learnt from Clint tonight.

“Clint?”

The archer looked up from his arrows, “Yeah?”

She nudged him with her side, “Thanks.”

Clint didn’t say anything.  

He didn’t have to.

_And thank you too…_

_Steve._

 

*     *     *

 

**Tuesday, 5:12AM, 17 th April 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Triskelion, SHIELD Headquarters, Washington D.C., United States of America**

Clint Barton sauntered into the Director’s office.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Agent Barton,” Fury greeted, and then paused with one brow raised and head tilted to one side, seemingly giving Clint a once over, “you’re walking a little funny.”

God _dammit_. If _ONE_ more person made another comment about these alleged funny walks that he’d apparently been displaying, then he swore he was gonna put an arrow between-

“I need you in top form for this one, Barton. Are you up for this?” Fury apprised.

Damn right he was.

“Yes, sir.”

Fury slid a black tablet across his desk, “Everything on Selvig is in there. And everything on the Tesseract too.”

Clint took up the tablet, unlocked the screen, and began pouring through its contents.

“Your mission is to keep a close eye on Selvig. 24-7. I wanna know where he goes, who he calls, who he talks to, what he eats, even where he takes his goddamn piss. I wanna know everything. Report to me on an hourly basis.”

Clint nodded, “Who’s coming after the Tesseract?”

“We don’t know.”

“But you think Erik Selvig’s the key.” Clint observed.

“The guy knows an awful lot about how to work the Tesseract. That was why I got him on board Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. in the first place. Look, whichever side Selvig is on will have the key to harnessing the Tesseract’s full power. We just need to make sure that Selvig is on _our_ side.”

Clint flipped through a couple of photos on the tablet. Selvig was in each and every one of those photos. Only a couple of them were taken in New Mexico. The rest of them were all taken at the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility in Mojave Desert.

“His posture.” Clint noted.

“What’s that, Agent Barton?”

“Selvig’s posture. It’s different. If we compare these photos, Selvig has a completely different posture in some of them. There’s a slump in his shoulders for the photos taken in New Mexico, but not in those that were taken when he’s working at the facility. His leg placement is also different. In the New Mexico ones, he always stands with his right leg slightly forward. But it’s the opposite for the other pictures.” Clint explained his observations.

Fury smirked, “You really have the sharpest eyes, Agent Barton.”

“What else is weird about him that I should know?” Clint said, shutting off the tablet’s screen.

“Everything about him is weird. It’s like he’s a completely different guy from before. One is like you said, his posture. And then we’ve interviewed Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, two of his closest associates, and according to them there is a noticeable difference in the way he walks. Said he usually walks slower compared to how he did after he was brought into the facility. Hell, even his speech patterns have changed.”

“And this all started when?”

“Right after I brought him onboard the project.”

“Huh.” Clint said.

_Definitely smells a little funky there._

“Look,” Fury leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, “it could be nothing. Maybe it’s a scientist thing, like maybe he’s in his ‘Einstein-zone’ or something. But I just wanted to be sure. The Tesseract is dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands.”

Clint nodded, “What first tipped you off?”

Fury leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled.

“When I first showed him the Tesseract...He..." Fury shook his head, a deep frown etched on his darkened features, "He said something that didn’t quite sit well with me.”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

Fury’s face turned grim.

“After seeing the cube, he said to me, ‘Well, I guess that’s _worth_ a look.’”

Clint frowned, “Weird.”

Fury said, “Yeah. He said that it was _worth a look._ Like he’d already expected to be shown something when we brought him down there, and that whatever that’d been shown to him was _worth it._ ”

“You think that he had manipulated you into showing him the cube?”

Fury shook his head resentfully, “Think about it. He said, **worth it. Worth. It.** When you say something is ‘worth it’, it usually means that you’ve put an effort into doing something. And when the thing is accomplished, only then will that effort becomes _worth_ _it_.”

“Now it _definitely_ sounds like you’ve been manipulated into showing Selvig the Tesseract.”

“It could be. I don’t know.” Fury rubbed his forehead tiredly, “But seriously. _WORTH A LOOK._ Who the hell would say things like that?” Fury wondered aloud.

“People who know that SHIELD’s hiding a secret, and who’re also very interested in finding out what it is.” Clint replied.

 

*     *     *

 

**Wednesday, 11:12AM, 17 th April 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: SHIELD Facility, New York City, New York, United States of America**

Of all the ways they could use to welcome The Living Legend back into the world, Nick Fury had chosen to go with a lie. A white lie, yes. But a lie nonetheless. Like as if Captain America would need another pile of bullshit to be added into the shitstorm that he was about to wake up to.

With a sharp tug, Natasha Romanoff drew the white linen curtains close. Noon was approaching, and the New York morning sun was seriously getting a bit sizzling. Not that the intended occupant of this room was a big advocate for the cold. But she figured she’d try to make him as comfortable as possible in his deep slumber.

Natasha appraised the room once again, from floor to ceiling, and from corner to corner.

As part of Director Overdramatic’s idea of a ‘homecoming party’, the room had taken a 1940s style of décor. Linen curtains, fancy flower-patterned carpets, wooden chairs, an antique lamp, an old radio, and hell, they’d even dressed him up in his old SSR T-shirt and brown khakis.

The whole room was like a movie set.

Well, it kinda was. In a way. Since the whole damn place was staged for a ‘show’ anyway.

And then there was the furniture. Every piece of them painted in white. Snow white. The wooden chairs, the nightstand which supported the old lamp, the metal bed frames, the obsolete radiator under the window sill, the plaster ceiling _,_ the walls, everything. Everything was painted white. Rather fitting, she supposed. White everything as part of a white lie. Natasha snorted. Poor man would probably wake up to photo keratitis or something. Though his serum could probably take care of that.

According to the doctors, the Captain could wake at any time now. The supersoldier serum had already begun restoring his body to its former vitality from the moment he was defrosted and given proper nutrition.

Now it was just a matter of his own conscious will to wake up into this new and foreign world.

For a fleeting moment, Natasha wondered what his reaction would be if he woke up right this instant and saw her at his bedside.

Would he smile?

Or would he throw a punch at her, thinking that she was a HYDRA agent.

She sincerely hoped for the former.

But then again, she could probably take him even if it did end up to be the latter.

Whoa. But wait. Why did she care? Why would even she hope for him to wake up when she was here, in the room, with him?

Huh.

Okay. Technically, she wasn’t even supposed to be here in the room, since she’d starkly _refused_ to put on a loose blouse and a dark olive green pencil skirt as part of her 1940s getup required for ‘the star-spangled show’.

But it was _her_ job to watch over him, so she’d damn well be here regardless of what anybody might say.

Natasha ambled closer towards the bed. Towards the sleeping soldier.

He’d begun sweating, she noticed. Beads of perspiration colonizing his perfect features; on his forehead, near his hairline, on his nose, on his temples.

Guess it was a good idea to draw the curtains close after all.

Natasha noticed a folded white (of _course_ it’d be white) towel stacked on top of the nightstand. Also on the nightstand, placed beside the towel, was a full glass of water. Without ado, she grabbed the towel and headed for the door, beside which the light switches were located.

_Should probably crank up the fan._

Turning the old creaky knob, she maxed out the speed setting of the ceiling fan, hoping to cool down the room.

The brown ceiling fan (one of the few things in the room that didn’t come in white) was positioned right above the bed. Perhaps a little bit too high up, which would explain why Ste- ahem, _Captain Rogers_ , was sweating so profusely moments ago.

Positioning herself beside the bed once again, Natasha began wiping the sweat off the soldier’s face. The towel moved in quick, successive, but gentle strokes.

_Is he having a fever?_

Natasha paused in her ministrations, and placed her hand over his forehead.

_Nope. Doesn’t feel like it._

Made sense, she supposed. Since the guy couldn’t get sick from anything as an effect of the serum.

Natasha returned to the towel in her hand, sponging the Captain down, this time focusing on his neck. 

Without the towel obscuring his face, Natasha’s eyes couldn’t help but linger.

_God, he’s handsome…_

And his countenance, it looked so kind, and virtuous, and upright, and _honorable_.

She’d never ever been so curious about another person before. Hell, not even her targets warranted so much curiosity from her, and she was _supposed_ to be curious about all her targets.

But this man…

There was just _something_ about this man.

Something about him that felt completely foreign to her.

What _was_ it?

_What’s so special about you, Captain?_

_Why do I feel like I’m your friend already?_

Was it physical attraction?

Fine. She wouldn’t lie.

She _was_ physically attracted to him.

But was that it?

No. It wasn’t. She was hundred percent sure that it wasn’t just that. This was completely different. This had nothing to do with physical attraction, or with his reputation as a Living Legend.

No, this was so much more than that.

This wasn’t physical.

This was _emotional_.

This was about the way she _felt_ around him. About this wealth of emotions that he was able to uncover from within her soul _without_  him even being conscious!

_Боже..._

It didn’t make any sense at all.

They hadn’t even spoken to each other, for Christ’s sake!

And yet…

And yet she felt like she could already trust him. God, how could this be? The Black Widow _did NOT_ trust easily. How could this man gain her trust just like that? It made no sense at all.

Hell, it wasn’t just about trust either. It was like she felt this _need_ to befriend him. This desire to be his friend, and to form some kind of camaraderie with him. It was like she had this **desire to be a part of his life.**

Like, seriously, what kind of strange shit was that?

Heck, it even creeped her out a little to be honest.

**Because for the very first time in her life, she felt a strong desire to EARN someone’s friendship, to EARN someone’s trust.**

Earned trust.

 _Earned_.

Not trust obtained via manipulation. But trust that was _earned_ through honor and friendship.

How the hell did he do all this to her? How was he able to make her feel these things? And he wasn’t even conscious, for Christ’s sake.

_How?_

Natasha shook her head incredulously. _Yeah? Beats the living shit out of me._ The towel was soon discarded on the nightstand. He wasn’t sweating now, thanks to the fan. Natasha’s hand flew to her holster the moment she picked up footsteps from the hallway outside. Two quick knocks. And then the door opened to reveal Phil Coulson.

“Natasha. You’re needed.”

“Now?”

“Nah…” Coulson said before stepping into the room and closing the door, “Just came here to let you know. But Fury wants to see you soon. He’s flying in from D.C. as we speak.”

“New mission?”

Coulson nodded, “Undercover.”

“Who’s the target?”

“Georgi Luchkov. Russian Military General. And an illegal weapons dealer. We need you to dig up some dirt on him so that we can nail him.”

“Sounds fun…” Natasha said drily.

“Well. It _is_ your forte.”

“Who’s gonna watch over Rogers now?”

Coulson handed her a file, “I’ve got someone.”

Natasha skimmed through the document and went through the profile of a tall, and beautiful brunette agent: _Agent Eve Sanders. Level 6. Specializes in Undercover Ops. Been with SHIELD for 9 years._

“Can she be trusted?” Natasha asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, she certainly looks clean.” Natasha said, passing the file back to Coulson.

They stood in companionable silence, both watching the man before them.

“What’s gonna happen to him, Phil?”

“He’ll go through a series of PE once he wakes. After that, he’ll probably be sent to the Retreat for a while.”

“Something tells me that he’s gonna punch his way out of this cell the moment he wakes.” Natasha said.

“Then let’s hope tha-”

RING! RING! RING!

Coulson glanced down.

“It’s Fury. We gotta go.” Coulson said and headed for the door. Natasha followed closely behind.

But when Natasha reached the door, she halted.

Turning herself around, she regarded the Captain’s profile one last time.

They’d probably never see each other again after this. And for some reason, that thought induced a certain…heaviness and emptiness within her. It felt like she’d lost his friendship even though she’d never really had it in the first place.

Longing.

She longed for his friendship, even though it was probably something she could never have. Why would Steve Rogers, a man with such limitless virtue and honor, befriend someone like her? She was a liar, and a killer. The mere idea of getting to know a person like her would probably nauseate the man to the hilt. 

No.

It was best to stay away from him. For his own sake. 

_Unless…_

Unless _he_ himself approached her in seek of acquaintance.

Then that (if it ever happens) would be a different story altogether. 

The door opened again. Coulson popped his head in, phone in hand.

“Natasha, we gotta go. Fury’s here. He wants to see you.” Coulson said before rushing out.

The ceiling fan whirled. The half-opened door creaked noisily. Natasha gave that handsome face one last parting look, converting every plane and curve of that visage into memory.

Maybe someday.  

Maybe someday, she’d have the courage to open that Pandora’s box and explore the possibilities of building something more with the man.

Maybe someday, they could establish a rapport, an amity.

Maybe someday, she could become worthy of his trust and friendship.

Someday.

But until then, she could only have memories.

Memories of him, of their one-sided time. 

Memories of the 16th of April 2012, the day she first met Captain America.

Natasha reached forward. Her hands clasped the metal of the door handle. It was cold. Icy. A stark contrast to the warm feelings that had been burgeoning in her heart ever since she first laid eyes on Captain Steven Grant Rogers; 

The metallic coldness of the door handle signified, in a metaphorical sense, the imminent coldness she’d undoubtedly be facing the moment she walked out of that door; a harbinger of the fact that the time had come for her to return into her own dark, bloody and cold world.

It was time.

Time to return to where she belonged.

The cold.  

_See you around, Steve Rogers._

She left.

 

* * *

 

(End of Part 1)

_To be continued...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go guys. Part 1 of "Heroes and Victims". 
> 
> All in all, "Heroes and Victims" is sort of my way of introducing the "Universe" in which The Broken Shield takes place. From here on out, I am going to call that Universe the "Adannaverse". And as you've probably noticed, through "Heroes and Victims" I'm essentially linking together all relevant events in the MCU, and then at the same time fitting all my own characters and their respective backstories into it. I have some pretty intense stuff already written in Parts 2 and 3 (I'm not sure if there's gonna be a part 4 to "Heroes and Victims" just yet). And I'm quite confident that those intense stuff can tug at y'all's heartstrings. I just hope that it would be in a good way though. 
> 
> All events in "Heroes and Victims" are essential. They act as informative backstories for the main characters in The Broken Shield. It explains their pasts, their histories. Please be reminded that details from "Heroes and Victims" will be referenced quite a lot in the future. So please do not take for granted. 
> 
> Initially, I've had qualms about writing it this way. I know you guys are dying to know about that Natasha "almost confession" and it's ramifications, so the thought of writing a filler chapter did seem shaky to me at first. But once I started writing, it didn't matter anymore. Because I can say this, "Heroes and Victims" _is_ The Broken Shield's essence. It contains my original creations. And I must say this too, if there's one aspect I would regard as "brilliant" in the entire story I've written so far, I would be say that it's "Heroes and Victims". 
> 
> Let me know what you think, guys. 
> 
> Please comment. Comments give me the push and drive to update quicker. 
> 
> Isaiah.


	23. Heroes and Victims (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya all! 
> 
> So. Part 2 is here. 
> 
> For those of you who have forgotten who the heck Adanna is, then might I remind you that she is the little girl I've first introduced in Chapter 9. "Heroes and Victims" centers around Adanna Nkululeko. It is a collection of a long series of events which shows how young little Adanna's life crosses paths with the lives of Steve and Natasha. It's about how Adanna's life _connects_ with Steve's and Natasha's. 
> 
> And Themba Nkululeko _IS_ that connection, as you will see by the end of this chapter. 
> 
> To Jeanne: This is still part of my dedicated chapter to you. Wherever you are, I just hope that you are alive and well. Take care. Oh. And Part 3 will be posted on your birthday. Because I have a birthday surprise for you hidden in that chapter. 
> 
> To all readers: Thank you so much for following and supporting this newbie writer throughout his first writing experience. I humbly bow in gratitude.

**THE AVENGERS INITIATIVE**

**Friday, 1:23PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: East 42 nd Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: A busy street in NYC**

“Aye, where you from, son?”

Yeah.

 _This_ , ladies and gentlemen, was why Themba Nkululeko would rather live in the dystopian reality of George Orwell’s ‘1984’, where such a thing as a Speech Jamming gun exists. Because he sure as _hell_ could use one right about now: to give that chatterbox in the driver’s seat a nice little hushing zap.

Begrudgingly, Themba turned away from the partial reflection of his own face in the backseat window and looked towards the source of the gruff voice up front. Through the rearview mirror, he caught sight of the gasbag’s curious gaze on him. 

Seriously _?_ Was it really that obvious that he wasn’t from around here?

“I’m from Wakanda, sir.” Themba answered politely, though it took almost every ounce of his strength to keep a lid on his annoyance.

Obviously, the day had _not_ gone as he had expected.

Not in the least.

He was supposed to be at Park Avenue by 12PM, at that nice little café on Pershing square (the one which sold the _best_ latte he’d ever tasted), neck-deep in their signature grilled beef steak, and chowing down on a side dish of French fries, all the while engaging in a much-anticipated skype session with his little baby sister.

At least that was what  _should’ve_ happened.

Instead, he was now stuck in a hooptie cab with godawful air conditioning. And not to mention he had _completely_ missed Central Café’s happy hour by now. Great, now he even had to pay extra 10 dollars for lunch.

Great.

Just great. 

“Wakanda? Never heard of it. That like a country?”

Themba resisted the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

_No. It’s another galaxy._

“Yes, sir.”

Slow was the Friday traffic on East 42nd Street. Then again, ‘slow’ was probably a severe understatement, since he’d been pretty much stuck in this gridlock for nearly 50 minutes now (and counting). And things were getting progressively frustrating as the seconds ticked by.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Precious seconds of his life. Seconds, which suddenly reminded him of all the major cons of staying in one of the world’s largest and busiest cities.

Themba leaned back, and let out a quiet sigh. The act costed him another three precious seconds. Tick. Tick. Tick.  

Oh, don’t get him wrong, though. He loved New York City. Adored it, in fact. Especially the Manhattan area. After being here for about 3 years, he had really come to enjoy the place, even more than he loved Wakanda he daresay. 

It was the culture which had him hooked.

The people, too.

And besides, he loved the sheer wealth of knowledge to be pursued here, all the plethora of opportunities available for one to grow and to expand one’s mind.

But most of all, he loved the _vibe._ The NYC vibe. The Manhattan vibe.

Seriously, the place was never short of activity. It was just so… _lively,_ all the time. A complete opposite of what he knew he’d experience if he was back home in Wakanda.

So, yeah. He loved NYC, yes. How could he not? NYC was the heart of New York! So many things to see. So many things to love. So many things to enjoy.

Well, the traffic definitely wasn’t one of those things.

_Come on…move already. MOVE._

Themba eyes burned twin holes into the windshield of the cab. But all he could see was the butt of some mover’s truck. A big, red square patch, with a perfect white circular disk in the middle.

 FLATRATE MOVERS

**THE PERFECT MOVE**

He snorted. _Perfect move?_ Yeah, what ‘perfect’ move it was, to hang around campus and chat with that beautiful lady from General Relativity class when he should’ve left campus earlier to avoid _exactly_ this situation. And what’s even more appalling was that he didn’t even manage to score the lady’s digits in the end! Ugh. Talk about wasted effort and bad decisions! ‘Perfect move’ couldn’t have been more far off from the truth.

Well. Clearly, he’d brought this upon himself. By thinking with the wrong body part.

And as if on cue, both tail lights of the mover’s truck flashed twice, as if mocking his poor life choices. _Damn it, Adanna’s really gonna be piss mad at me for this._

He’d promised her that he’d be available on Skype at 8PM sharp Wakandan time today.

_But now, it’s already…_

Themba cranked his neck and sneaked a glance at the dashboard’s digital clock.

_1:30PM EDT._

Wakandan time would be 8 hours ahead, which means 9:30PM back home. Damn. She was gonna be so disappointed. And of all the things that Themba hated, disappointing his little baby sister was on the very top of that list.

“Hey cabbie, sir?”

“Aye, son?”

“How far are we from the Grand Central Terminal?”

Central Café, the place that he was headed to, was located at Pershing Square, right in front of the Grand Central Terminal where East 42nd street intersects Park Avenue.

“Uh…still mad far. I’d say ’bout 20-minute walk from ’ere.”

“Oh, right.” Themba said distractedly, still staring and cursing at the unmoving traffic outside.

“What it do, son? Why you actin’ so thirsty?”

_Thirsty._

Themba smiled. Typical New Yorkers.

He didn’t have a clue what that term meant when he first got here. He’d only found out when his game developing buddy, Matt, explained it to him.

Thirsty meant ‘to act desperate’. And, in full accordance with the New York lingo, he was, right at this juncture, a ‘thirstybucket’.

“Nothing, sir. Just somewhere I need to be.”

The cabbie threw him a look.

“No shit.” A pause. “So what it do? A date?”

“Nah.” Themba deflected.

“Then just chill out scrap! It gonna be a long way ahead.” Cabbie gestured at the windscreen in front.

Chill? Uh…no thanks. This wouldn’t do. He was gonna have to walk. Wait any longer and he was gonna miss the skype session with Adanna altogether. Plus, a 20 minute-walk wouldn’t be too bad anyway. At least it’d be better than to be stuck unmovingly in this cab.

Resolute, Themba pulled out a 50 dollar bill to cover the cab fare, and shove it into the front seat.

“Keep the change, cabbie.”

“What? Son! Where you going?!”

But Themba was already out of the door with his satchel in tow.

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 1:54PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Central Café, Pershing Square, Park Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: A Café with an outdoor seating. Directly below a flyover known as Park Avenue Viaduct.**

As expected.

The place was jam packed.

Full-house, even when lunch hour was long past.

The indoor tables were all occupied, leaving Themba with no choice but to sit at one of the smaller, round, metal tables outside the café along Park Avenue’s sidewalk. Actually, even those were scarcely available, and he considered himself immensely lucky to be able to score a nice spot under one of the mega-sized, green patio umbrellas.

Strangely though, regardless of the crowd and steamy weather, Themba found the whole atmosphere to be rather diverting and agreeable. Around him, patrons prattled on ceaselessly. Obnoxiously, even. As if they owned the place. Some were talking so loudly that Themba couldn’t help but overhear bits and pieces of their conversations. Mostly, people talked about their lives, or more specifically, bragged about how awesome their lives were. And then there were some who talked about family, while another bunch yakked relentlessly about politics and hell, even the latest football scores or some silly newly-aired TV show last night.

People seemed to talk about anything other than science. To Themba, that was just…… _sad_.

Waitresses bustled around in their cream-colored uniforms, taking orders and serving drinks. Some prettier ones were even repeatedly hit on; such as the pretty blonde waitress currently waiting on the third table to his right. One disrespectful guy was trying all he could to touch the lady’s hand, whereas the other two sitting at the same table were pestering her non-stop for her number.

 _Poor girl._  

Subtly, Themba stole a glance at the name tag.  

_Beth._

That’s one downside of being attractive, apparently, Themba mused.

Like any other part of New York, the entire scene at the Central Café screamed liveliness. The place was saturated with so much vibrant and positive energy that one couldn’t help but feel excited just by being near it. That was what he loved most about the States. It just felt as though the cities never rest, and as though all the energy and activity was limitless.

Despite the sweltering afternoon heat, it was actually quite comfortable being outside the Café. The three powerful moisturizing fans installed along the pavement definitely helped cool things down a little. And not to mention that massive flyover extending from the Grand Central Terminal building all the way along Park Avenue which blocked out most of the sun, thus leaving behind a nice patch of cool shade in the area. And to top it all off, the seating layout was ingeniously organized for ease and comfort. Relative spacing between tables came in just the right amount. The tables were closely arranged, but not packed. Providing ample leg space for their occupants to move about. From a birds’ eye view, the entire floor plan would take shape of a perfect rectangle, condoned from the street of Park Avenue only by a row of cuboid ceramic flowerpots which adorned the sidewalk.

The table that Themba had picked was right beside one of the flowerpots, which was pleasant, since the plenteous thicket provided him with exactly what he needed: shielding from the scalding New York sun. Straight ahead from his seat, perhaps about 50 meters or so yonder, the majestic Grand Central Terminal building (with its signature clock-statue) stood tall. And beyond the Grand Central Terminal lay a half-constructed skyscraper. He’d read fliers before, about that building. Heard that it would be called the MetLife Building, and that it would be established as the main HQ for some bigshot real-estate firm. Pretty much all the other buildings in the area were bland. Typical skyscrapers with garden-variety architectural designs. Nothing that would rouse his interest to any significant degree, unless if one considers the _other_ building beside the MetLife Building.  

To the left of the MetLife Building, lay **_the_** object of interest for most Central Café frequenters:

Stark Tower.

The one and only arc-reactor powered building in the whole world. And constructed by none other than genius billionaire, Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man.

Indeed. Stark Tower was the reason most people even come to Central Café in the first place. That, he could be sure of. Hell, believe it or not, some would even spend their entire afternoon sitting here, staring up into the sky. All that, just so they could catch a glimpse of that brilliant flash of red and gold zooming past their heads. Cricks and stiff necks be damned. Not that Themba would blame them though. Pretty sure he was just as mesmerized as the next guy when it comes to _**the**_ most sophisticated suit of armor ever engineered in the history of engineering. Oh, and on extremely lucky days? One could even _feel_ the heat of the repulsors on top of one’s head. The gentle touch of repulsive forces, like mini shockwaves, caressing one’s hair, massaging one’s scalp. The sensation varies, though. Because for other not-so-lucky times, it’d just feel like a really strong gush of hot wind zipping past one’s ears. Kinda like when a hair dryer was switched on. He’d know, because he’d experienced that one before. 

Admittedly, Themba himself was one of those guys, those guys who came here just to see the ‘big guy’.

Over the last 3 years, he had encountered the Iron Man at least 5 times already.

AND. IT. WAS. AWESOME. 

Which was why he had remained a patron of this place even though his school, the City College of New York, was a good 45 minute cab ride away. And the free Wifi they provided here? Icing on the cake.

“Hi, may I take your order?”

Themba glanced up, and saw Beth, with her forever pretty smile, standing in front of his table. In her right hand, she held out a menu. Themba declined the menu offer. He knew his order by heart.

“I’ll have a Grande Latte, and a grilled beef steak.”

“With fries?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright. One Grande Latte and one grilled beef steak with fries. Anything else I can get you, sir?”

“No. That would be all. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Beth left with his order.

From his satchel, Themba pulled out his tablet, and launched Skype.

Adanna had left him over 12 messages. The earliest one was sent almost two hours ago.

**[I’m on.] – 12:02PM**

**[Hello?] – 12:12PM**

**[I’ll hack into your tablet if you don’t type something soon.] – 12:23PM**

**[I’ll do it, I swear.] – 12:24PM**

**[Launching Metasploit now…I’m serious] – 12:30PM**

And then there was a snapshot Metasploit’s user interface.

Since when did she even know how to use that? Themba mused.

Guess his baby sister really was a genius.

**[While you’re busy breaking your promise to me, I’m having dinner.] – 1:03PM**

Themba smiled at the message.

Scrolling down further, there was an image showing the dining table back home, with his Mama and Baba sitting side by side and looking straight into the camera. God, he missed them all.

**[Dinner’s finished……] – 1:16PM**

**[I just went into your room and smashed your telescope…] – 1:24PM**

Themba laughed. No, she didn’t.                         

She wouldn’t do that.

_She just wants to get a reaction out of me._

_Can you even be more adorable, you little munchkin._

**[I’m just kidding, by the way.] – 1:29PM**

**[I just went 10 rounds on puzzle box…broke my old record in one…] – 1:38PM**

**[New record: 3 minutes 23 seconds.] – 1:38PM**

**[There’s no way you can beat me now :p] – 1:39PM**

**[Mama is calling me down for fruits…] – 1:43PM**

**[Please don’t ignore me…] – 1:44PM**

_Poor munchkin._

And then Themba grinned when he saw the last message, which was sent about 5 minutes ago.

It was a series of dots and dashes.

**[.. / .- -- / -... --- .-. . -.. .-.-.-] – 1:49PM**

Morse code.

One of his genius baby sister’s many antics.

It took him a while, but he translated the message as: I am bored.

Exhilarated, Themba tapped the video call button, and then plugged in his earphones.

“Hi, Ada.” He said the moment he saw the face of his little baby sister filling up the tablet’s screen.

“Where have you been, Themba?!”

He cringed.

“Sorry baby sister, I planned to be at this café today for our call, but I got stuck in New York traffic just now. Are you mad?”

On the screen, he saw Adanna reaching for that red bolster of hers. She did that whenever she was uncomfortable or upset.

A wave of guilt washed over him.

They hadn’t Skyped each other in a little over 2 months now, given how busy he’d been at school. And today, even after promising to Skype with her, he just _had_ to be late.  

“I’m so sorry, Ada. Forgive me? The traffic was really heavy, and I was stuck in the cab for nearly an hour. But I walked the rest of the way to the café.” He said guiltily.

From the screen, he saw his sister wiping her cheeks, “It’s okay, Themba.”

“Will you forgive me?”

His sister nodded, “Where are you now?”

“I’m at a café in Midtown Manhattan. Oh! I can even see Stark tower from here.”

“Really?”

“Here, let me show you.” He said as he switched to the tablet’s main camera and raised the tablet, “Can you see it?”

“I see it…have you ever been up there?”

“Nope,” Themba said, switching back to front camera, “but I wish I had though. Heard there’re lots of cool stuff up there.”

“Have you met Iron Man?”

“Wouldn’t say I _met_ him. Just saw him flying over my head a few times.”

“Is he cool?”

“Oh, he is.” Themba paused, as if a thought suddenly occurred to him, “Actually, Ada. I think you and Mr. Stark will have a _lot_ to talk about.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely!”

From the screen, Adanna threw him a strange look. As usual, his little baby sister looked every inch adorable when confused.

“Why?”

Themba flashed a teeth baring grin, “Duh. Because you’re both geniuses!”

“But I’m not!” Adanna protested, “He is. But I’m not.”

_Always so humble and shy._

“Of course you are, Ada.”

“But he builds robots. I can’t build robots.”

“Not yet, Ada. Not yet.”

_You’ll do something great in the future too, Adanna. I know you will._

“Have you had your lunch yet?”

“Nope. I’ve ordered, though. This place is packed. So, I don’t think my beef steak will be coming anytime soon.”

“Oh.”

“But,” Themba said cheerily, “on the bright side, it means I get a little extra time to catch up with my favorite baby sister!”

“You have only one sister.” Adanna quipped dryly.

Themba chuckled, “Okay, okay, rein it in now, smartass. So. How’s Baba’s shop doing?”

At the mention of the shop, Adanna eyes lit up.

“It’s doing great! We’ve sold over three hundred copies of magazines and about seventy T-Shirts over the last two months! And now, Baba is even considering my idea!”

“Oh? What idea?”

“Of selling wax figurines!”

“Wait, wait, what? You can make _figurines_ now?” Themba asked incredulously.

Adanna threw him a look, “No, dummy. Michelangelo can.”

“Oh. Right. And how _is_ Michelangelo, by the way? How many bugs left to be fixed?”

Adorably, Adanna’s hands gripped at her hair, almost like she was trying to pull them off her head, “Ugh. One or two, I guess.”

“Any progress?”

Adanna shook her head in frustration. Okay, now he was seriously worried about the hair coming off her scalp.

“Nope. Can’t even figure out the source of the bug.” Adanna said in disgust.

Themba let out a sound of disapproval, “ _Ada_. What did I tell you last time? Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Get all sulky and self-loathing whenever there's a setback."

"I'm not sulking."

Though that cute little pout he'd seen on her lips said otherwise. 

"You should be very proud of yourself already, you know. You’ve built an entire software from scratch, by _yourself_. And a highly sophisticated one, at that. It usually takes a whole team of people for projects like yours.” said Themba. 

“But I can’t fix it…I’m stuck.”

“That’s just part of the process, munchkin. Everyone gets stuck sometimes, right?" Themba shrugged, "It's normal."

"Hmmph..."

That pout just intensified. Adorable. She could be such a child sometimes, his sister.

But wait. She  _was_ a child. Not intellectually, of course. But emotionally, she was still just a child.

Themba decided it was time for him to share a little life wisdom with his sister who seemed to be growing up  _way_ too fast for her own good. 

"That’s actually the fun part, you see?"

"Getting stuck?" Adanna grumbled.

Too cute. 

"Yeah. Getting stuck is fun. It pushes you to think beyond your own mental spheres. Forces you to think outside the box." Themba allowed several seconds' pause, "It makes you grow."

"I guess?" came his sister's half-hearted reply. 

"But you know what the most important thing is?"

From the screen, his baby sister's face sported a curious look. Themba felt like reaching across the screen and pinching her cheeks. 

"What?" She asked.  

"Well..." Themba said, leaning back in his seat, "The most important thing is to always enjoy the process of figuring things out.”

His sister went quiet.

Themba sighed thoughtfully.

"Ah... to be young and curious. And to embrace the pleasure of finding things out..." said Themba, a little too poetically, perhaps. 

"Umm... Are you quoting Richard Feynman?" asked Adanna, setting her red bolster aside.

Themba's eyes lit up and he laughed, "Have you read that book? The pleasure of finding things out?"

"Mmm hmmph..."

"Did you like it?"

"Mmm hmmph..."

"Oh, come on! Cheer up, Ada! Whatever it is, you'll figure it out soon..." Themba brandished a smile. 

“But I just can’t…I can’t solve it! Every time I work on it, I just couldn’t see what went wrong. And then I’ll get upset. I don’t like feeling upset.”

Themba spent a few moments in quiet thought. 

“I think that happened precisely because you aren't enjoying the process..." Themba paused, letting his words sink in, "From what I see, you're too focused on the results and not the actual process of finding the solution.”

His sister picked up her red bolster once again.

“Hey, Ada?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna hear a story?”

“It depends.” Adanna hesitated for a second or two, and then she asked, “Will it be scary?”

Themba laughed, “No. Don’t worry. It won’t be scary.”

“Excuse me, sir. Your Latte.”

Themba looked up and saw the waitress, Beth, placing his drink along with a bunch of napkins and cutleries onto his table.

“Sorry for the wait, but the steak won’t be coming out for another fifteen minutes or so.”

“It’s no problem. Thank you.”

Beth left again.

“Sorry, Ada. My coffee just arrived. Where were we?”

“The story?”

“Oh. The story. Right. Okay. It goes like this. Once upon a time, there was a very wise teacher who lived deep in the mountains of China. This teacher was known to take students under his wing, one at a time, in order to teach them so that they can become as wise as himself. And then one day, a young man climbed all the way up to the mountain to seek the teacher’s wisdom.”

“So when the young man met the teacher in the mountains, he asked the teacher, ‘Sir, how long will it take for me to become as wise as you?’”

Themba paused to take a sip of his latte, glad that his sister was completely absorbed in the story. 

Themba placed down his cup, “And then the teacher said to him, ‘Five years.’”

“The young man was very unhappy with the teacher’s answer. So he said, ‘But five years is a very long time! How about if I work twice as hard?’”

“And then the teacher said to the young man, ‘Then it will take ten.’” Themba paused for effect.

“But Themba…That doesn’t make sense!”

As if he’d anticipated his sister’s outburst, Themba smiled, “Hang on, Ada…Be patient. Let me finish the story.”

“Okay.”

“The young man was once again very shocked at the teacher’s answer. He said, ‘Ten?! But that’s far too long! How about if I studied all day and all night, every single day?’”

“The teacher told the young man, ‘Then it will take you twenty years.’ ”

“Now, at that point, the young man, much like my dear baby sister, got really, really confused.” Themba teased amiably.

Adanna stuck out her tongue.

“So the young man said, ‘But I don’t understand. Why is it that the more effort and focus I put into my goal, the longer it takes to achieve it?’”

“Do you know what the teacher told the young man, Ada?”

She shook her head.

“The teacher said, ‘It’s very simple. With one eye fixed on the destination, there’s only one eye left to guide you along the journey.’”

A look of understanding washed over his sister’s petite countenance.

“So do you see now, Ada? The more you think about the end of the journey, the less likely you’ll be able to actually make it to the end successfully. Learn to focus on the process. Enjoy it. And then success will come to you on its own without you ever needing to chase it too much.”

“I understand now. Thank you, Themba.”

“You’re wel-”

BOOOOOM!!!!

A deafening explosion erupted above him. So loud and frightening was the sound that it’d made Themba jumped straight up from his seat, overturning his chair in the process.

But nothing could beat what he saw at the same time as the sound came. What he saw, was both intriguing and scary. For up high yonder, on top of Stark Tower, there was a blinding flare of blue which lasted for only a split second; like a quick burst of energy, or, in more astrophysical terms, like a mini supernova.  

In the few seconds that followed the bang, Themba felt a strong gush of wind, rushing down from the sky. Hot, pressurized air, like a heated shockwave resulting from a dirty bomb, as if a massive hairdryer had just been activated in the sky.

And then it was gone. Just as quickly as it came, the heated shockwave vanished. Disappeared.  

Everything went back to normal.

Still very much in shock, Themba glanced frantically around him, partly to make sure that everyone else around him was alright, and another part to ascertain that he hadn’t actually imagined everything that he’d just witnessed. The look of terror on each and everyone’s faces confirmed that he hadn’t imagined any of it. That explosion was real. Though the cause of it remained unknown.

On the bright side, however, nobody was hurt. Shocked, yes. Some were even frightened, but none was hurt. Moments later, things calmed down, and Themba felt like he could breathe again.

_Wonder what that was…_

Suddenly remembering his sister, Themba readjusted his chair and picked up his fallen tablet from the floor.

“Themba!! Themba!!”

He heard Adanna’s frantic pleas the moment he plug his earphones back into his ear.

“Hey, Ada…I’m here. Sorry.”

“Oh…thank God. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“What was that just now? There was a loud bang. And then the screen went black. Was there an explosion nearby?” Adanna asked worriedly.

Themba angled his neck skyward and stared back up at Stark Tower.

But there was nothing up there to be seen. Not from this distance anyway.

_Hey…wait a minute._

On second thought, there _was_ something up there. He could faintly see something like a tiny glowing…ball of…something blue, on top of the tower.

A blue orb.

 _Probably Mr. Stark testing an equipment?_ He hazarded a guess.

“Themba…Themba!!”

He cleared his throat.  

“Yeah. There was. Something exploded. But it’s quite far away.” He paused and scratched his head, “I think the sound came from Stark Tower…probably just…you know,” Themba shrugged casually, “Mr. Stark playing around with his toys, I guess? Nothing to worry about.” Themba reassured.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, munchkin. I’m fine. Where were we?”

Out of curiosity, Themba stole another glance at the tower, at the minuscule blue orb.  

And it seemed to be glowing brighter and brighter by the second.

 _Damn…what_ **IS** _that thing?_

There was something in his gut that he couldn’t quite shake off. A sensation very much akin to terror, or apprehension, burgeoned at the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden, Themba lost all his appetite. Something was definitely going on up there. He studied his surrounding next, and noticed that everyone else had gone back to minding their own business, as if the explosion just now had never happened.

“Themba…”

“Themba!”

Adanna’s shrill voice pierced through his ears.

“Huh? Wha…What's that?”

“I said I’ll look into Michelangelo’s bugs again and try to fix it. Were you even listening to me?”

Themba chastised himself for being distracted, and shook himself out of his stupor.

“Yes. Yes, Ada, I was listening. And…good! That’s great. Don’t give up, okay? And remember to enjoy the process.” He threw in a half-smile.

“Themba? You look…pale…”

Okay, he had to change the subject, now.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry. Err…hey, umm, the uh, the shop! Have you guys come up with a new name yet? You said…I mean, last time you told me that you guys weren’t too happy with the original name?”

“We’ve changed the name quite a number of times, actually.”

“Really? Um…What about that latest one… the one you told me two months ago…err… what was it again… ah, yes, The NK Outlet? Was that it?”

“Oh. That. We changed that last month. It seemed a little lackluster and dull, so we replaced it.”

“So…what’s the new name now?” Themba said, trying very hard not to look towards the sky.

“The Outsiders.”

“Ah. Interesting. There’s a very…mysterious vibe surrounding the name.”

Another explosion sounded from afar, this time, much softer. A deep rumble followed suit.

_Seriously, what in the name of Bast and Sekhmet is going on up there?_

Was Mr. Stark being robbed?

Should he call the police?

Distraught, Themba tried his very best to focus on the ongoing conversation with his sister.

CRASH!!!!! This time, it was the faint sound of shattering glass.

“Hey, Ada. Can you hold on for a second? I think…I think something’s going on up there at Stark Tower.”

Adanna’s face scrunched up in worry, “Okay…?”

Themba allowed himself one long glance at Stark Tower.

At first there was nothing. But a split second later, he saw it.

There was a dark globule of some kind….like an object that was falling down along the edge of Stark Tower.

_Great Bast and Sekhmet…_

_Is that...?_

It was a person! A person had fallen off the top of Stark tower!

CRASH!!!!!! Another sound of glass shattering, much louder this time.

But then Themba saw something else too: some kind of object had shot out from one of Stark Tower’s fancy window panes.

It looked… _flashy_ and stylish. Almost like a red casket with rockets attached to it.

_Wait a minute. Is that…?_

It took him less than a second to put the pieces together.

_Holy Bast and Sekhmet…_

The person free-falling in the sky was probably Mr. Stark, and that red, rocket-powered casket that was chasing down the man must be the Iron Man suit!

_That does it. I’m calling the cops._

Themba fumbled around his satchel and fished out his phone, but before he could even unlock the screen, he was startled by yet another huge blast which sounded from above.

But this time, he recognized that noise.

_Repulsors._

He looked up, and saw Mr. Stark, in all his iron glory, shooting up into the sky and back towards the building’s crest.

Things got even stranger at that point.

Because Mr. Stark made no attempts to step back into the tower. Instead, the Iron Man suit was hovering in mid-air, in front of one of the broken window panes, as though Mr. Stark was staring at something inside the tower.

And then what Themba saw next was even more shocking. He saw the Iron Man blasting a powerful repulsor beam……into his own building?!! What the heck?!!

_Something’s wrong._

_Something’s very, very wrong._

Crap. Maybe some bad guy had gained access to the suit? That couldn’t be good…

Themba thumbed the screen frantically, unlocking his phone, pulling up the phone app, and dialed 911.

_Come on. Come on. Pick up…_

_Pick up… damn it!_

CLICK!

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m reporting an incident at Stark Tower. First there was an explo-”

He couldn’t finish.

CRAAACCCKKK!!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!

The world spun, in circles, _sporadically,_ as Themba was thrown off his seat like a ragdoll by what could only be deemed as a supersonic blast wave. Such impetus the shockwave possessed, that his entire body was _propelled_ at least 3 meters off the ground, into the air, and was soon gyrating about its longitudinal axis like an airborne ballerina. There was nothing Themba could do at that point except to brace himself for the impact that he knew was coming.

A second later, he felt his skull smashing onto the cement pavement in an excruciating thud. And before he could even move, a stray patio umbrella came crashing down upon his ribs, forcing out all the air in his lungs in a sick, wail of anguish.

Desperate screams and cries could be heard from all around him. And among the screams of terror, he also heard the loud clanking and scraping of metal against the hard cement as tables and chairs tumbled along the pavement due to the forceful shockwave.

_I need to push this thing off me._

“Ugggghhhh….” With much effort, Themba heaved the heavy umbrella off his torso. It took 3 tries and every bit of strength in his triceps to finally get the offending thing off his body.

Blindsided by pain, Themba rotated his body to the side, to his right side, to avoid putting any weight onto his throbbing left ribs. Pretty sure the heavy umbrella had cracked a couple of them.

He tried to stand up.

 _Tried_ to.

He couldn’t. And if he was honest, he didn’t think he could even crawl at that point. His legs were so wobbly that they felt like _heated_ jell-o.

Through blurred visions and ringing ears, Themba caught a glimpse of his phone, which now lay on the ground a few inches away from his shoulder, the screen bestrewn with spider-web cracks.

That was the last thing he saw before the second shockwave hit, and everything exploded in a blaze of bright blue.

And then all was white.

Everything turned white.

Blinding white and blue, as if someone had just detonated a flash bang right in front of his face.  

He grunted and quickly covered his eyes.

A sharp, and ear-piercing roar followed suit: a high-pitched _buzzing_ sound, with a deep, core-shaking hum.

ZZZIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNGGGG!!!

ZZIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!!!

Helplessly sprawled on the ground, Themba clamped his palms over his ears while squeezing his eyes shut.

Was that it? Was he gonna die here today?

Everything hurt.  

It hurt. Felt as if his eardrums were about to explode into a billion pieces of fine dust. Every breath he took felt as though he was socked in the ribs by Muhammad Ali himself.

“Arrrghhhh!!” Themba screamed, screamed, screamed and screamed. Or so he _thought_ he did. Because right then, even his own screams were inaudible. He couldn’t hear his own damn screams. He couldn’t hear anything other than that strange buzz which came from Stark Tower.

And then all of a sudden, everything slowed down. The noise, it dulled, diminished in magnitude. Or was it that his eardrums had finally exploded? Had he gone deaf? He honestly couldn’t tell.

Slowly, Themba risked opening his eyes, and realized, much to his relief, that the blinding lights were now gone too. He could see again! He could see again!

His fight-or-flight mechanism kicked in. Adrenaline pushed through his veins.

_Move it. Gotta get away from here. Find cover._

Themba scrambled up, despite the protests of his spinning world and retching stomach and buckling legs.

It took him a while, 6 tries at least, to regain the remaining modicum of his bearings. The only thing which kept him going instead of collapsing right back into the ground was a name. One name.

Adanna…

Adanna…

Adanna…

_Uh-oh._

Skype…

Tablet.

_Come on, find the tablet._

He had to-

_HOLY……_

Just one glance at the sky sufficed to overthrow whatever resolves that he’d previously made.

Themba stood there. Transfixed. Stunned. Because over yonder, attached to the afternoon sky from the summit of Stark Tower, was a bright and steady beam of cerulean effulgence.

But that wasn’t all.

That blue beam, it seemed to have pierced _through_ the sky.

_Good God…_

It was a hole.

There was a freakin’ puncture in the sky.

A dark hole, which Themba had absolutely zero doubt where it led to.

As a learning astrophysicist, Themba knew precisely what that was. He knew, because he’d studied it in General Relativity class.

_A wormhole…_

A portal, into another region of space-time.

What Themba saw next had his blood freezing into a plexus of crimson icicles.

There were _things_ , tiny airborne objects, like little black dots, pouring in from the other side of that hole. And from where he stood, he could even descry the miniscule form of Mr. Stark’s Iron Man, flying up, up, and up; up towards the hole, blasting away at those black dots as he went.

_Is this what I think it is…?_

Comprehension washed over Themba like a tidal wave, crashing into his pounding and concussed skull, stirring his cerebrospinal fluids into a maelstrom.

Oh, he knew.

He knew what this was.

He knew _exactly_ what was happening right then.

A hostile extraterrestrial invasion.

_Holy mother of Panther God…_

Wasting no time, Themba sprang into action, scrambling back towards his table, grabbing and grasping.

He found the tablet, which was (fortunately) still working. Miraculously, even the Skype session was still on.

From the tablet’s screen, he quickly discerned the profile of his beloved baby sister, huddled up against the arms of his Baba. Adanna was sobbing uncontrollably. His Mama was there too, and her lips were moving. So were his Baba’s. It seemed like they were both shouting something to him…

But he couldn’t make out what they were saying at all. He didn’t even know where his earphones were.

With the tablet in hand, Themba tried to run for cover.

Again, _tried_ to.

Because not one step he took, and he was already losing his balance, legs buckling as a surge of vertigo hit him. Themba latched onto a metal table for support.

There wasn’t enough time. Movements were futile. He could barely stand up straight. And at that moment, there was only one thing in his mind.

“Adanna, Mama, Baba! I love you! I love you all!” He shouted as loud as he could, shouted for the tablet.

He didn’t even know whether the tablet’s microphone was still working (maybe he should just type a message), but he clamored on nonetheless, hoping to convey what he thought would be his last words on Earth. 

“Take care of yourselves!”

Something boomed from afar, following by the sounds of shattering glass and crashing vehicles.

More screams could be heard now. Shrieks. From men, women and children alike.

Screams of horror.

Screams of death.

It was as though the gates of hell had opened. Maybe it did. Maybe this **_was_** Hell.

Maybe this was the end.

“Take care of Ada…!!!”

“Goodbye…”

His tablet exploded.

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 10:15PM, 4 th May 2012, (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Lot 26, Wakandan Residential Area, Zone G, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

Her parents were shouting at this point.

“Themba!! Are you there?!”

“What’s going on over there?!”

“Themba?!! Are you there??! Come on, talk to us…!”

The Skype session was still active. But the screen was dark, almost as though something had covered up the front camera of Themba’s tablet.

But it wasn’t the blackness of her computer screen that unnerved her the most.

It was the sounds which came through her speakers.

It was beyond any doubt now, that those were explosions that they were hearing in the background.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! They went. In intervals of 2 or 3 seconds. Sometimes even less than that.  

The brief intervals in between explosions were filled with interludes of crackles. Steady sizzles, digital effervescence, like an out-of-tune frequency radio. And camouflaged amidst the fizz and hisses, were unmistakably the subtle iotas of voices, _human_ voices. Screams and moans, of pain. Of fear. Of death.

“Try his cell!” She heard her Baba’s own frantic yelling from beside her. And then she heard footsteps courtesy of her Mama scrambling to retrieve her phone.

“Put it on speaker!” Baba called out again.

The Skype window remained pitch black dark.

_Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut. Tut._

CLICK!

_The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone._

BEEP!

“Themba…this is Mama. You’ve just abandoned your Skype session with Ada and never came back on. What on earth is going on over there? We’re really worried about you. Can you please call us back and let us know that you’re alright?”

Her Mama hung up.

“Wanna try again?” Her Baba asked.

Something shifted in the Skype window.

“Baba!!” Adanna slapped her father’s arms in rapid successions, “Look!”

They heard more scuffling sound, and saw more shifting of colors.

3 seconds later, Themba’s face popped back onto the screen. A jet of air expelled through Adanna’s nostrils.

_He’s alright. He’s alright._

“Oh my God! Themba! What happened?” Her Mama shouted.

“Themba?! Themba?!” Her Baba yelled and waved his free hand towards the camera.

But Themba hadn’t responded to any of her parent’s questions. Only stared back at them with his bruised and battered face.

“Honey is he…? He’s bleeding from his ears!!” Her Baba stated.

Good God.

The image shook a little, and then Themba’s face disappeared from the screen once again. Five seconds later, his face came back on.

It was clear from his face that he was experiencing a significant degree of physical pain.

“Themba!!! What on earth is going on over there?!” Her Mama tried again.

“Honey…I don’t think he can hear us…” Her Baba said, his voice laced with dread.

And then they heard Themba’s shaky voice, blaring through the speakers.

_“Adanna, Mama, Baba! I love you! I love you all!”_

_“Take care of yourselves!”_

Another deafening boom blasted in the background, followed by more ghostly screams.

Tears streaked down Themba’s face. Tears which mixed with the blood on his face.

And all three of them could only stare at the Dell’s screen in complete shock as they had all realized by now what exactly it was that Themba was attempting to do.

There could be no doubt now.  

Themba was trying to leave them his last words.

Adanna once thought that she could never imagine how the world could one day end, or how it would feel like when it did.

Tonight, Adanna had found her answer.

Because right then, she was beyond sure, that her world had just ended.

_“Take care of Ada…!!!”_

_“Goodbye…”_

The screen went dark.

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 2:22PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Central Café, Park Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

He got lucky.

Really, _really_ lucky.

His life was saved, by his tablet. Or more precisely, by the vibranium protective cover he’d fitted over his tablet.

When the table exploded due to a blast from some kind of blue energy beam, the vibranium had absorbed most of the blast, leaving him with only some burns and scrapes on his hands.

_Gotta move now. Gotta move now, man._

All of a sudden, realizing that he’d been given a second chance to save his own life, Themba pushed through his will, and summoned within himself a new strength. Strength, which he thought he never possessed not minutes ago while he was trying to leave his last words for his family. Themba took off, towards the nearest shelter that his concussion-addled brain could think of: the interior of Central Café.

Explosions were everywhere.

BOOM! One from his right.

BOOM! One from somewhere behind him.

BOOM! One from above.

He ducked just in time to avoid a blue beam. He paused, turned around, and watched the metal chair behind him melt into a pool of molten alloy.

Fear seeped into his veins as he quickly fathomed that a few more feet, and the pool of liquid on the ground would’ve been his own _brain matter_.

He stumbled on. Trying to ignore the series of blasts and screams all around him.

The blasts seemed to have increased in pace. They were all coming in intermittent, unpredictable and sporadic intervals. Rapid, and meteoric. In a few seconds’ time, the entire place had transformed into a complete war zone. The threat of death loomed in the horizon. Every scream, every explosion, and every tremor, they all felt like the whispers of Death, like Death’s calling.

Themba ran. Ran for his life, past the flowerpots, towards shelter. He leaped over a fallen umbrella, barely avoiding a patch of slippery, unfinished spaghetti Bolognese splattered on the cement tiles.

People were scurrying all over the area, helter-skelter, like bats flying out of the gates of hell, or like a swarm of bees whose nest had been disturbed. What a mass of people. There were just too damn many of them, and all of whom had only one goal in mind: cramming themselves into the haven that was the Central Café.

Someone, a bulky man, rammed full force into Themba, with the man’s elbow connecting sharply against Themba’s broken left rib.

“Arrgh!” Themba yelled as his knees hit the ground.

No one moved to help him. Instead, people merely stepped around his fallen form, leaving him behind to die. If he was honest, he’d consider himself lucky that he didn’t get trampled over at that point.   

Taking one shallow breath at a time, Themba struggled, and managed to (miraculously) get back onto his feet in one try.

Another explosion sounded above him, right at that flyover leading straight into Grand Central Terminal. Startled, Themba gazed up, and watched in horror as a black sedan blew up into the air, and was, right at that instant, tumbling _over_ the flyover and falling down towards the ground below, _towards where he was standing._

_Oh no!_

“Look out!!!!!” Themba screamed, diving forward, barely managing to shove a waitress out of harm’s way.

They both hit the ground at the same time, Themba and the waitress, with the sedan crashing only about a meter behind them.

_Ouch…_

Unfortunately, he had mislanded, and ended up with his injured side plowing onto the hard, concrete cement. Themba moaned in pain, his form sprawled on the ground with his legs tucked up against his chest and his arms clutching at his side. The pain was excruciating, and so goddamned agonizing that he might as well be dead already.

Something warm and sticky ran down his cheeks.

Blood.

Blood from his ears.

Damn it.

All of a sudden, he felt cold. A limb-numbing chill. He couldn’t stand back up. Hell, he could barely even breathe.

He knew he was a lost cause now.

He just had no more strength left.

_I guess this is it…_

His eyes drooped.

_It’s over…_

His fists unclenched, slowly losing their strength.

SLAP! SLAP! SMACK!

A sharp, stinging sensation chopped though him, instantly cutting off the power source of his built-in conking mechanism.

“Sir…! Sir! Get up!! Get up now! We have to move!”

Someone was pulling his arms forcefully.

His eyes fluttered open.

It was the waitress he’d just saved.

_Hey, it’s Beth._

“Sir, come on!! Get up!!”

The waitress gave his arm another solid tug. This time, jolting him straight out of his stupor. And then with all his might, Themba pushed his legs hard while Beth pulled with everything she had.

Together, they managed to get him back up.

“Come on, sir…let’s go. Hurry!”

Another streak of blue zipped past their heads. And in the next instant, the table behind them shattered apart into pieces of scrap metal.

“Snap out of it!! Come on!! Move it!!!” Another sharp tug on his arm. He stumbled a few steps forward. Everything spun.

 _Damn it, I can’t even see straight…_  

“Go on without me!!” He yelled and pushed the lady away.

“NO!! I’m not leaving you out here. Lean on me! Quick!!”

His hands fumbled, trying to locate Beth’s figure. Sirens could be heard now. Gunshots too.

“Here. I got you. I got you. Lean on me.” He moved into Beth’s side. She felt warm, and safe.

“I can’t see straight!” Themba croaked out.

“I’ll guide you. Just lean on me, okay?”

“Alright…”

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 2:25PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: The interior of Central Café, Pershing Square, Park Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

They made it indoors.

“Thanks…Beth.” Themba said, out of breath.

“You’re welcome. And I should be thanking you too. You saved my life, you know. I never saw that car.”

“Guess we’re even.” Themba managed a tiny smile.

They were both leaning up against the cashier counter. Panting, and taking in their surroundings. If things were chaotic outside, then it wasn’t very much different inside the café. Women and children were crying. Some men were cursing, others were yelling and bemoaning their circumstances. In other words, none of them were being helpful.

People were freaking out.

_Someone needs to lead them._

Themba pushed himself away from the ledge he’d been leaning against.

“Hey!! Stay away from the windows.” Themba shouted to the group of children hunkering beside the floor-to-ceiling windows near the edge of the café.

The kids complied willingly, and moved closer to where Themba and Beth stood.

“And stay calm-” Themba said before he was cut off by a rude man. It was the same man who’d bumped into him just now.

“Who are you to be ordering us around, aye, lad? Why should we listen to you?”

_Moron._

“You will if you want to stay _alive._ ” Themba snapped.

“Hey, watch it, lad.” The big bulky idiot was now shoving those standing around him in order to move closer to Themba.

_Man. Just what kind of imbecile is this guy?_

Things were bad enough as they were, and having a meaty guy with a scarcity of IQ points trying to run the show was the last thing they all needed.

A few men tried to stop Mr. Roly-Poly from advancing any further.

“Dude, chill. You trying to start a fight in here? Really? Wanna to get us killed sooner?” said a big, muscular man in a business suit who had had both his hands secured around the idiot’s arms in an effort to hold him back.

Themba took a calming breath, “Everybody needs to just calm down and _stay quiet,_ alright? You keep yelling around like that, then those things out there would hear us. Once they hear us, we’re all dead.”

The big moron yanked his arms away from business suit guy.

But at least the moron had managed to calm his corpulent ass.

Themba continued, “And please stay away from the windows, unless you want to get shot.” Themba turned around, “You guys at the back, can you back up a bit? Make some room for those in front. And you guys standing near the windows, move back in. Those things are gonna see us if you stand so near to the windows.”

Much to Themba’s relieve, the people complied without much cavil.

“Wow. You’re good.” Beth commented.

“What?” Themba asked.

“At leading. You’re a natural leader.”

Themba waved it off, “Nah. Someone had to. If we’re ever gonna live through this.”

“Yeah. Seriously, what the hell is going on out there?” Beth whispered.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Themba whispered back.

“Like some kind of alien invasion?”

Themba nodded grimly.

“I’m an astrophysicist. That hole up there? I know what it is. It's a wormhole.”

“A wormhole?”

“Yeah…” Themba sighed, “It’s like a tunnel linking together two points in space-time. You could think of it as a portal.”

“Did the aliens create it? I mean the wormhole.”

“I don’t think so…” Themba paused, and thought for a moment, “That blue beam was shot out into the sky from Stark Tower, right?”

Beth nodded, “So…wait, are you saying…that… that Mr. Stark made the wormhole?”

“ _Or_ …some bad guys had gained access to Mr. Stark’s Tower and had used it to open the portal.” Themba surmised, “Creating a wormhole requires a lot of energy. Maybe that’s why they chose Stark Tower. That building is literally a powerhouse.”

“It’s self-sustaining, right? Some kind of arc thingy.”

Themba smiled, “Arc-reactor. And besides, didn’t you see just now? Iron Man was flying towards the hole to fight those aliens. I don’t think Mr. Stark was the one who opened the portal.”

The windows of the café shattered all of a sudden, the shutters melted off the frames.

_Oh, crap._

CRASH!!

CRASH!!

A second later, there was another flash of blue, and the café’s front door liquefied into a puddle.   

Hysterics pervaded once again. Women shrieked and children cried. And men cursed. 

“Alright, calm down, people. Calm down!” Themba raised his voice, but it was no use. Terror, Death’s henchmen, had taken hold over the minds of the people.

“Damn it!” Themba hissed, “It’s not safe here. We’re too close to the portal.”

“What should we do?” Beth said, the trepidation clear in her voice.

_Think, Nkululeko! You’re a scientist. Use your logical mind. Solve the problem._

“We need to get underground.” Themba resolved.

He turned to address everyone in the room.

“Guys! Listen up! We need to move, soon. This place isn’t safe. It’s too close to the portal.”

“Okay? But where do we go?” A woman piped up from the crowd.

Themba took a breath and asked, “Any of you guys really familiar with this area?”

A couple of ‘yeahs’ and ‘pretty muchs’ were thrown around.

“Okay. Then I need you guys to think. Is there somewhere around here that we can go underground?”

What ensued was a series of mumblings and mutterings as the crowd discussed among themselves.

“Um. Wait!” Beth said all of a sudden.

“I think there’s a…bank or something. Yeah, there’s a bank with a basement.”

‘Where?” Themba asked.

“Umm…” Beth hesitated for a second before she shouted, “It’s…It’s past Madison! Along 42nd.”

“Do you know the way?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Beth answered.

A blue beam zipped in and hit the café’s ceiling.

“Lookout!” Someone shouted.

And then there was a loud crash.

“Okay, guys…now we really have to move. Beth, is there a backdoor here?” Themba asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, we can use tha-” Themba was interrupted rudely, by none other than Mr. Super Genius Roly-Poly.

“Hey, hold on a second now, lad.” He said, “You want us to just walk out there and get killed?”

Themba threw a look that screamed: _DUHH YOU MORON._

“Well, you can stay here and get eaten by aliens if you want. No one’s really stopping you.” Themba quipped.

_Bet those aliens would enjoy devouring up your belly fat._

Ignoring Mr. Roly-Poly, Themba turned to address the rest, “Alright, listen up. We move in groups of five. Four would stand in a circle, with one person in the middle. That way we can watch out for hits coming from all directions. The person in the middle will watch for attacks from above. Try to leave the children in the middle of the circle, so that the adults can shield them with their bodies. And also, before you go out there, please grab a tray, or a chair, or anything from here. Just grab something that you think could help you defend yourself when you’re out there. And grab something you can use as a shield too. We get out of here through the back door. Beth can guide us to the bank.”

“Any questions?”

Silence.

“Then let’s move.”

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 2:40PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Park Avenue Viaduct, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: A flyover which runs parallel and above Park Avenue. In front of Grand Central Terminal’s Statue Clock.**

One _hell_ of an eye-catching dame she was.

That striking, full head of fiery red hair. So conspicuous and manifest, even from 300 feet away. Hell, even when this old soldier was busy fending off about a dozen of these Chitauri things, that dame had still managed to catch his eye somehow.

And _boy_ was she a sight for sore eyes.

Guess he just never really met many women who could hold her own in a battlefield like that ever since Peggy. Not that he'd crossed paths with a lot of other ladies since Peggy.

From his peripherals, he saw the redhead flipping down a creature more than twice her size, snapping its neck in the process.

 _She’s amazing._  

Leaping off the hood of a damaged sedan, Captain America slammed the edge of his shield against the throat of a Chitauri soldier. Torrents of blue liquid gushed out of its mouth as it lay motionless on the ground, wheezing. From his right, two more let loose a series of energy beams on him, but the shots were all of them thwarted by the Captain’s iconic vibranium shield.

Phil Coulson once told him that people might just need a little bit of old-fashioned this time around. Well, luckily for Phil, this soldier was never short of old-fashioned. In fact, old fashioned was kinda his shtick.    

“You want old-fashioned? Let me give you some old-fashioned, then.” The Captain growled.

In a feat of superhuman speed, he charged towards his enemies, his shield raised, blocking off every single shot fired at him. And in the split second when the shooting paused, he seized the opportunity and tossed his shield forward with such accuracy that it knocked the guns straight off the hands of his two foes in one smooth trajectory.

 _Good._ He thought, still charging forward. _‘Cuz it’s a fist brawl now_. And he had no intention to lose. None. 

 _Time for some old-fashioned knuckle fight._  

“Good ol boxing!!!” Steve shouted, and at the same time delivered a swift bolo punch from under a Chitauri’s jaw. So great was the impact that the ET’s head was torn straight off the shoulder. The headless body propelled at least a few feet off the ground before it, too, crumbled limply into a messy heap. The dismembered head splattered against the windshield of a nearby car.   

Against the remaining foe, Steve followed up with a jumping overhand right: leaping into the air, he swung his right arm outwards and downwards in a wide circular arc.

SNAP!

His fist connected, smashing the Chitauri headfirst into the ground in a pile of bluish innards. Dead.

Picking up his fallen shield, Steve once again sought out the auburn locks which had captivated him more times than he was willing to admit. Seconds later, he found her. That beautiful red-headed dame had now taken cover behind an upended taxi with that archer, Agent Barton, close by.

Steve wondered if those two would be alright on their own, especially the redheaded female agent. Leaving a woman alone by herself in the middle of a battlefield wasn't really his kind of thing. It'd leave all kinds of bad tastes in his mouth.  

ZIP! ZIP! ZIP!

Something flew past him. Something blue.

He turned around, and watched in mute horror as a platoon of Chitauri monsters landed on the flyover. He did a quick count, and came up with about two dozen gun barrels, all of which were locked onto him.

_Great, now there are more than twenty of them._

Steve raised his shield just in time to block off a series of Tesseract-colored bolts. The vibranium disk reverberated in his arms. And it didn't help one bit that those blue things looked an awful lot like HYDRA weapons. The last thing he needed was for his mind to start dredging up the ghosts of his past. For now, war was upon humanity. Only this time, it was brought to them by an army from  _outer space._

His enhanced hearing picked up something else from above.

_Uh-oh…_

“Zooterkins!” Steve cursed, leaping sideways. The patch of ground beneath his feet just moments ago had then exploded into a hail of tiny rubbles.

Steve landed, and rolled into a defensive crouch, his shield up and ready.   

_Just what the hell **are** these bonkers anyway?_

Shit. Now he was cornered.

Steve grunted and dove quickly behind a delivery van as another wave of blue bolts rained down upon him.

Damn it all! He was so not ready for this fight. Not one month out of the ice, and he was already charging into a battlefield. And for Christ’s sake, these goddamn things weren’t even human!!

The front tires of the van erupted into blue flames.

“Gadzooks!” Steve cursed once again, but soon cringed when his mind conjured up an image of Ma Rogers rising from her grave just to chastise her son's colorful choice of language.

Steve pressed his back against the van's door and tried to come up with a plan. But before he could make any progress, the air around him began to reek of burnt rubber and melted steel. He also detected an unnatural shift in the van's disposition, as if the entire vehicle was sliding against his back. He pushed away from the door and turned around. It was only then he realized that with both its front tires fried, the van had caved entirely to one side.

Still in a low crouch, Steve made his way closer to the van and braced his shoulder against the door.   

_I’ll be in a serious tactical disadvantage if I don’t get a load of them soon…_

Steve tried peering up through the van’s windows, but only to find himself cursing at his own foul luck. 

_Dang nabbit! Why the hell are these windows tinted?_

With a grunt, Steve reached up, and snapped off the van’s side view mirror. Extending the mirror out from the van’s edge, Steve began sizing up his enemies through the mirror’s reflection.

The platoon of Chitauri soldiers were already closing in on him. Had already begun to crowd the van.

He had to do something fast.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

The van shook vehemently as pieces of glass pulverized into glittering crystals. Gone now were the van’s windows. He supposed he could now peer up the window again if he wanted to. But then he immediately decided against it, as that was probably the surest way to have his head blown off. 

_Think, Rogers. Think._

He could either disperse them, and then take them out one by one…

Or, he could take them all out at one go.

He immediately decided the latter to be the wiser option considering the limited space he had to work with.

But he'd still need a plan to make it work. 

He needed another look at their formation-

CRASH!

 _Holy Mackerel!_  

The side view mirror in his hand exploded into dusts the moment he extended it out.

Steve peeked around the van’s bumper instead.

_At least 16 of them._

_About 40 feet away._

_All facing me._

_Each armed with only one energy gun._

_Okay…_

Steve pulled in a breath. He remembered that time back in the war, when Grandmaster Imi taught him about the fundamental principles of self-defense:

_“Use any available tools or objects nearby for your defense and counterattack…If there is a chair, use the chair. If there is a stick, use the stick! There are no rules in Krav Maga. The point is to walk away alive…”_

Then again, he pretty much had nothing useful at this point. Nothing except for his shield and this crummy van he was hiding behind.

Wait…

The van…

_That’s it!_

ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! BOOM!

The van quivered violently.

Damn it, did those guns even _need_ reloading?!

ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! BOOM!

_Well, guess that answers the question._

Stealthily, Steve lay himself down flat on the ground. Using the lopsided gap underneath the van, he sneaked another peek at the enemy formation.

_Look at their legs…_

He had been right before, there were about 16 pairs of legs, which were now approximately 20 feet away from the van.

_Come on, fopdoodles. Come closer._

He had to get them to approach the van. His plan wouldn't work if the enemy was content with just blasting the van from a distance.

Another idea struck him.

Slowly, Steve let the vibranium disk slip from his hand. The shield hit the ground in a loud clank. He then kicked the shield aside so that its edge peeked out from the side of the bumper.

All of a sudden, the Chitauri stopped firing.

_That’s it, knuckleheads. I’m dead...so come closer._

Shortly afterwards, Steve could’ve sworn that he heard a noise which sounded like gargling, and an unpleasant, high-pitched whine. Jesus Christ. The Chitauri, they were _talking_ to each other.

Readying himself, Steve kept both hands securely latched under the van’s chassis.

_Come on…come on…_

A few pebbles skittered.

_That’s it…come closer._

Steve waited, focusing his eyes on the patch of ground beneath the van. He was waiting for the shadows to show, shadows which would imply the Chitauri’s sufficient proximity to the vehicle.

_That’s it…_

Steve’s grip on the chassis tightened.

_Just a little bit more…_

_NOW!!_

“Argh!!!” Using every ounce of his strength, Steve flung both hands skywards, flipping the entire van in the process. The van propelled off the ground, tumbling forward with great speed, rolling and crushing numerous Chitauri soldiers in its path.

Steve jump-rolled to the side, towards where his shield lay. He picked up the shield just in time to block off a series of shots courtesy of the remaining foes. 

_7 more to go._

Steve sprang up from his crouching position and barreled forward, shield raised, covering his upper torso from head down.

During the war, while he was touring with the Howling Commandos across Europe to take out HYDRA bases and Nazi camps, Steve was trained personally by Imi Lichtenfeld, master of hand to hand combat, and the founder of the Krav Maga fighting system.

He remembered Grandmaster Imi's words. 

 _“Always defend and counterattack simultaneously. If possible, do them both in one move.”_  

Utilizing all his leg strength, Steve burst forward in an explosive tackle, thus turning himself (and his shield) into a battering ram of sorts. The tackle connected as the shield rammed into an enemy's head. It was a good strategy, considering he had had both defense and offense covered in a single manoeuvre.    

The shield rammed against the head of another Chitauri soldier, this time smacking it against a concrete wall.

Two more were standing close by.

Steve tossed the vibranium disk towards the wall.

The shield’s trajectory was just as he’d predicted. Ricocheting off walls, swiftly taking out the pair of aliens.

3 more to go.

Steve spotted the one nearest to his left who was about to fire at him.

Steve launched himself at the creature, deflecting its rifle to one side with his left hand and at the same time throwing out a superhuman right hook.

The Chitauri’s neck twisted into a knot before its body went limp.

Steve reached out and pried the rifle off the dead Chitauri’s hand. Stepping forward, he then held up the dead alien’s body, using it as a shield. With the rifle, he shot the remaining two dead.

 _Dad-blamed! That was tough._ Steve thought as he picked up his shield from the pile of dead bodies.

Catching his breath, Steve made a mental note to himself: update his combat skills as soon as possible. _If_ he ever managed to survive through this hell, that is.

Another batch of Chitauri on flying chariots flew pass his head. Steve followed their trajectories for a jiffy, and soon realized that they were all headed towards East 42nd street.

_That street is filled with civilians…_

This was bad.

_There’re just too many of these things..._

Hell, believe it or not, those stray Chitauri soldiers were actually the _least_ of Steve’s worries right then. He was in fact more concerned about that flying whale-like thing which had come through that portal moments ago.

_No, Rogers. Leave that thing to Stark for the time being._

Right now, he had to focus on rallying the ground troops and getting the civilians to safety.

Steve glanced back towards his two allies, who were still huddled behind the taxi in front of the Grand Central Terminal.

 _Those two are very skilled…_ Steve thought.

But they were still outgunned. _Severely_ outgunned. If this kept up, they’re gonna run out of steam soon.  

_And damn it, where in the bloody hell are the National Guards? Shouldn’t the army be here by now?_

They needed more firepower. Otherwise there was no way in hell they would be able to contain the current situation.

_But the source of the problem…_

Steve angled his head skyward, towards that gaping hole in the sky.

He sighed.

Regardless, they need to close that portal soon. But first…he had to do what he did best. Becoming the team Captain. _Lead._

_Move it, Rogers. Rally the team. Get civilians out of the line of fire. And then work on closing that portal._

Steve sprinted back towards the two agents.

 

*     *     *

 

Weaving around overturned cars, Steve made it back to the two SHIELD agents. He dropped into a crouch beside the redhead, leaning his back against the taxi’s front door. They were now on a flyover, one which ran above and perpendicular to East 42nd street.

The redheaded dame, Agent Natasha Romanoff was her name, seemed to have noticed Steve’s presence immediately. She spared him a quick glance before she promptly whipped her head back towards Agent Barton. The ends of her short scarlet locks flicked across his cheekbones, sending a jolt of electricity straight down his spine. Just a tickle. Not an entirely unpleasant sensation, considering the things happening around them right then: flying reptiles with guns and all. In fact, Steve thought it felt rather good, having his cheeks caressed by a beautiful woman’s hair, however fleeting the contact might have lasted.

It amazed him, just how much this woman (this very _beautiful_ woman) could affect him. She was a stranger, and yet he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. For some strange reasons, whenever she was near him, his senses would automatically seek her out. As much as Steve would like to deny it, he couldn’t. It was true. She was like a magnet, constantly drawing his attention; constantly overriding his control over his own sensory faculties so that they stayed attuned to her and nothing else. Hell, he could even _smell_ her at this point, as they remained huddled side by side behind that disfigured taxi. And much to Steve’s delight (and agony, depending on the context), he discovered that she had a really nice scent. It was… _floral,_ something like a flavor of jasmine and rose. Damn. Even when sweaty and grimy in the middle of a friggin warzone, Natasha Romanoff smelled good.

_There’s just something about her…_

A moment later, Agent Barton shot Steve a brief look.

“We’ve got civilians trapped up here.” said Agent Barton before he peered ahead at something.

Steve glanced around, following the archer’s gaze. Immediately, Steve noted a bus about 30 feet away from them. A school bus, filled with teenagers and kids, stuck, with nowhere else to run.

 _They can’t get to safety unless someone draw the Chitauri’s fire away from them…_ Steve thought.

Something exploded nearby: somewhere below and to the right of the flyover.

 _It’s coming from East 42 nd. _Steve surmised. _Probably an aerial blast._

Steve glanced skywards at the space above East 42nd Street.

A small squadron of Chitauri chariots were heading towards them at breakneck speed, led by none other than the son of a bitch who'd started this whole snafu.

“Loki…” Steve said, watching closely as the chariots zoomed over their heads.

Steve’s gaze trailed after the chariots. They zipped past the flyover and went further down East 42nd, blasting everything in their path.

“They’re fish in a barrel down there…” Steve said grimly.

CRASH!! CRASH!! CRASH!! Behind him, shards flew as the taxi's window shattered.

Beside him, Agent Romanoff sprang, releasing two quick rounds from her handguns.

Two Chitauri soldiers dropped dead.

_She’s a damn good shot too…_

Agent Barton, the archer, crept forward and took cover behind the back wheel of another upended car not far ahead.

Once again, Steve felt his gaze trailing down East 42nd, towards Loki's wake. _Those civilians need me over there…_

CRASH!! CRASH!!

Steve turned around and noticed ten more Chitauri soldiers landing on the roofs of a couple of abandon sedans about a hundred feet away.

But it wasn't like he could just leave these two here to fend these things off on their own.

_And what about the civilians trapped in the school bus?_

This was bad.

They were severely outnumbered. 

As if reading his thoughts, Agent Romanoff said, “We got this.” She gave him a slight nod, “It’s good. Go.”

It took every ounce of Steve’s strength not to let his jaw drop.

Steve stared back at her in shock, wide-eyed.

It was the way she had said it. The way in which she had uttered those word that sparked something within Steve. Something only Peggy Carter had managed to stir up.

Admiration. That's what it was.

And _damn_ did he admire the way Agent Romanoff handled herself right then. Calm. Composed. Confident. Determined. Alien battalions or not, there seemed to be nothing that could come close to rattlling the woman.

 _Just who_ **ARE** _you, lady?_

“Do you think you can hold them off?” Steve asked, having recovered from his shock (and about damn time too, he wagered).

“Captain,” Agent Barton said, a confident smirk plastered on his face, “it’d be my genuine pleasure…”

Before Steve could even come up with a reply, the archer sprang up, popping an arrow right between a Chitauri’s eyes.

 _Gadzooks! Here’s an even better shot!_  

And just like that, Steve Rogers was hit by a wave of nostalgia. He felt something right then, something that he hadn’t felt since the Howling Commandos.

Comradeship. And _trust._

Trust.

He had to trust his team.

They could do this.

As a team, they might just be able to win this battle.

Without another word, Steve leaped off the flyover and onto the roof of bus 1123, with guns and arrows exploding behind him.

_That’s right, Rogers. Trust them. Trust their skills._

Steve spring-boarded off the roof of the bus and landed on a car.

With a couple of somersaults, Steve landed on the ground and began sprinting down East 42nd Street. 

Better watch out, alien freaks.

Because Steve Rogers was officially back in the world.  

 

*     *     *

 

“Move! Move! Get underground! Find cover!” Steve shouted at a bunch of civilians who were literally scrambling around like headless chickens. Bona fide sitting ducks.

Steve sprinted further down East 42nd, surveying the damage along the way. Cars were overturned and burning. At every corner, there was pandemonium. As if the Lord of Chaos himself had descended upon the city. Symphonies of explosions filled the air, with the only interludes being the horrid screams of terror-stricken civilians. The once peaceful streets, now littered with dead bodies and detached limbs. Death washed over the lanes, leaving bloody brooks in its wake; for a moment, the black bitumen beneath his feet seemed to have gained a few extra shades of crimson.

It was the street of Death that he was standing upon.

_Gotta get these people off the streets._

“Hey!!" Steve stopped mid-sprint to yell at a woman who seemed too befuddled to tell right from left.

"Ma’am! You there!" With quick strides, Steve crossed over to her.

The woman turned around, face overwhelmed with pallor, lips trembling as if her jaw was sporting its own version of the tectonic shift.

"Ma'am...” Steve shook her at the shoulders, "Ma'am!!"

The woman's eyes cleared a little.

"You hurt?"

She shook her head. 

"You can't stay out here. It's not safe." said Steve.

Seriously, where the HELL was the army? Shouldn’t the army be here by now?

The woman swayed, seemingly about to pass out, but Steve caught her.

Left with no other choice, Steve quickly scanned his surroundings. A few minutes later, he was able to draw aside a man who'd been running past them.

"This woman needs help," said Steve, "can you take care of her?"

The man looked just about as shaken as the poor woman, but he'd agreed nonetheless, "What do I do with her?"

"Stay with her." Steve turned around and began walking away, "Take her to the subway, and stay there until help arrives."

Moments later, an idea struck Steve: cops. He could look for the cops. The cops could help guide the civilians to safety.

_Come on, New York’s finest…where you at?_

None. There weren't any cops around. Only flames, and chaos and dead bodies.

Something else caught Steve's eyes: a middle-aged man, sprawled on the sidewalk, struggling to free his legs from under a fallen lamppost. The sheer horror at the sight of the man's crushed limbs was enough to propel Steve into a momentary daze. A rush of cold surged through him, and in a somewhat ethereal manner, faces flashed before his eyes: trembling, fear-contorted faces. Horrified countenances of men as they stood right at the edge of their own mortality; swaying, _hesitating:_ should I cross that line? Is it time yet? Is there any hope left at all? He'd seen it over and over again, the horrors of war, the fear of death. The _hopelessness._  

But it was always the eyes which got to him the most, though: trembling pupils and the utter helplessness they bled out, the eyes of a man skirting along Death's vicinage.

He had seen the same look on Bucky's face. That accursed winter on that God-forsaken train carriage where everything went to hell was one that Steve could never forget.

Admittedly, a huge part of Steve had died with Bucky. That same part, which allows him to forgive himself for his mistakes, for not doing enough.

An explosion sounded nearby, and Steve snapped out of it, his flashback brought to an abrupt end by images of a struggling man with crushed legs.

Rushing over, Steve yelled.

“Sir! Sir! Stop!"

The man ceased his fruitless struggle. For a moment, Steve detected hope in the man's eyes, which quickly dimmed into despair.

"Help...! Help me...Please!" The man moaned.

"Listen, man. I need you to stay calm...alright? I’m gonna get you off this thing, I promise.”

Steve went into position, sliding his hands under the fallen metal.

Well, at least this was one promise he was able to keep. Honestly, between that dance he still owed Peggy and his failure to save Bucky, Steve had broken far too many of his promises already. At this point, he really wondered what the heck it was that drew so many men to do it. Men do it all the time: break their promises; go back on their words, sometimes without the slightest inkling of shame and remorse. They do it to their parents, to their spouses, their children, their friends...? Really, what was there to it that so many men do it? To Steve, after so many broken promises, everything just felt so...empty. There was just nothing. Nothing left to mend. Nothing left to heal. Nothing: just an empty void that consumes one's existence, propelling it into an ocean of nothingness.

With much ease, Steve hoisted the offending beam before tossing it aside. The mere act of it appalled Steve greatly: here he was, capable of performing countless of such superhuman feats with his strength, and yet _failing_ so spectacularly during the time it mattered most. What was the point in having strength when he couldn't even protect those that he loved? At one point he'd even wondered whether it was even a matter of strength at all. Maybe it was just him. Him, failing as a person.

Yeah, it was probably him, history being a reliable witness and all: being frail and weak, he failed to save his Ma; after gaining strength, he seemed to have failed too, in an entirely different capacity.

The Steve-Rogers Syndrome. Curse of eternal failure.

The grunts of the injured man reminded Steve that he had yet to fail thus far. But he  _will,_ soon, if he didn't get the man to safety.

“Can you walk?” 

Steve highly doubted it, but thought he'd ask anyway.

The man shook his head weakly, “No. No…Jesus! My legs, I think they’re broken.”

Well, they were more than just broken. They were  _squashed._

Steve's mind raced. The chaos, and not to mention the emotional turmoil swirling within him, it all proved a lot to handle, even for his serum-enhanced brain. Glancing, he spotted a bank nearby, on the right side of the street, about 200 meters ahead past Madison Avenue.

“Do you know that bank over there?" Steve pointed, "The one past Madison.”

The man nodded, “Ye…Yeah…”

“Is there somewhere underground in that bank? Like a basement? Or an underground vault?”

“Umm……yes! Yeah, I think there’s a basement.”

“Alright, I’m gonna take you there, okay? You hang on tight, sir. And stay with me. This will be over soon.” Steve said.

Not giving the man a chance to protest, Steve hoisted the man in a fireman’s carry.

And then he did something that he was never really good at before the serum: run.

 

*     *     *

 

At the bank, Steve pushed open the door and glanced for threats before entering. Upon entrance, he picked up faint sounds of human voices. Which meant that there were already people hiding down here. But first, he had to find out where the basement was.

“Hello??!!” Steve called out, and set down his shield behind a medium sized mahogany desk.

About ten feet ahead, Steve spotted a railing.

_Strange. Why would there be a railing in the middle of the floor?_

“There’s a door.” mumbled the injured man.

“Where?” asked Steve.

“To your right. It’s an open basement, I think. So there should be a staircase leading down.”

Steve headed right, and walked into a corridor. At the end of the corridor, he spotted a steel vault door.

“This the one?” asked Steve.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Steve tried the handle, but to no avail. It was locked.  

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

“Hello???!!” Steve yelled.

“Hello???!!” Steve hollered.

It was futile. Steve knew there were people at the basement. But given the circumstances, they would be too afraid to open that door.

For a moment, Steve considered breaking down the door, but in the end, he decided against it. Since the metal door was the only thing that’s keeping those people in the basement safe. _Looks like I’m gonna have to find another way down._ With a sigh, Steve went back the way he came. But once out of the corridor, he paused and lingered at the railing.

_This railing looks suspiciously out of place. Seriously, why would there be a railing **here** , right in the middle of the ground floor?_

“Why’s there a railing here, sir?” asked Steve.

No answer.

“Sir?” Steve shook the man, “Sir?!”

Slowly, Steve lowered the injured man to the ground.

Relieved to find a pulse, Steve leaned the unconscious man against the railing.  

_Out cold. Probably the crash after the adrenaline rush._

For a moment, Steve pondered about the railing. _Usually, there won’t be a railing…unless…_

A thought occurred to Steve. In an instant, Steve went behind the railing, and began tapping his foot on the ground. And what he discovered was that there was a rectangular region on the ground where the tapping sounded slightly hollower than the rest, as if a rectangular hole had been carved underneath that region.

_Right. So this floor opens directly to the basement. Which means there must be a hatch somewhere around here…_

Next, Steve lifted the carpet. And true indeed, there _was_ something on the floor behind that railing: 4 lines (crevices, really) which formed a perfect rectangle on the floor. Steve pressed his cheeks against one of the crevices. He felt a weak draft coming through the crevice.

_Air currents._

All his investigations thus far had confirmed Steve’s initial suspicions: that the basement was right below where he was standing, and that the rectangular block itself must be some kind of hatch which opened up to the basement below.

_Which means there must be a switch somewhere. Or some kind of mechanism to open the hatch..._

Steve got back up to his feet and paced around the hatch. He stopped short at the railing to re-examine it. Not ten seconds into his examinations, Steve discovered a panel hidden within the railing’s handle. And within that panel were the control switches required to operate the hatch.

_Bingo._

Without further ado, Steve pressed down on the green button and watched the rectangular block slowly sink down. The sinking ensued until a sharp click was heard. And then the sinking stopped and the block began to slide open, revealing about 3 dozen fearful faces huddled up together in a rather spacious basement.

“I’m not here to hurt you!!” Steve shouted, he raised both hands in a gesture of peace, “But I need help up here!! I’ve got an unconscious man with me. I need someone to take him down with you.”

“Hang on!” One man hollered back. He was a black fellow. Bald. And he looked young. Very young. Barely past 20, if Steve would hazard a guess.

Steve watched the young man giving out orders for two other men to follow him onto the ground floor. Moments later, two men, one who wore a neat suit and tie, and another one who wore ripped jeans and T-shirt acquiesced. The three men walked around the corner to a staircase which Steve assumed would lead to the metal door he’d been knocking on just now.

When the men got to the ground floor, Steve picked up the injured man and handed him over to the young man, who was clearly the leader of the pack.

“You in charge here?” Steve asked.

“No, sir. Just bein’ helpful.” Replied the young man modestly.

Steve smiled.

_Kid’s got heart._

But the man in the business suit slapped the shoulder of the younger man, “Oh, he _is._ This guy led us from Central Café at Pershing Square all the way to here. He might’ve just saved all our lives.”

“Good job, son.” Steve praised.

The young man blushed.

“Hey wait…have I…have I seen you from somewhere before?” The guy in ripped jeans asked all of a sudden, his question directed at Steve.

Steve smirked. “Pretty sure you haven’t. You don't look that old.”

Steve walked back towards the table and picked up his shield.

3 pairs of wide-as-saucers eyes were now staring back at him. Correction, staring at his _shield._

“Stay in the basement until help arrives. And try to be as quiet as possible. Don’t let these things know you’re in here.” Steve ordered.

The man in the business suit raised a shaky finger at him, “Holy shit…you…you’re Captain America.”

Steve saluted the men, “Glad to be of service.”

Steve left the bank.

 

*     *     *

 

Back on the streets, Steve activated his comm-link.

“Stark. How’s that giant whale thing looking?”

_[Still trying to draw its attention. I have JARVIS running structural analysis at the moment. Hopefully we can find a couple of weak spots.]_

“Good. You keep working on that. And I’m gonna try to get law enforcement to set up a perimeter. We need more hands down here to keep the civilians out of the line of fire.”

 _[Good call.]_ A quick pause. _[Still no signs of Banner?]_ Stark asked.

“Negative.”

_[And Thor?]_

“Last I saw him, he was at the top of your Tower.” Steve said.

_[Yeah? Doing what? Sightsee? Playing diva?]_

“My guess? He’s probably working on the cube.” Steve said, jogging past a couple of burnt cars.

Stark snorted. _[That barrier is pure energy. He can try, but he won't be able to break it.]_

“You really think Banner will show?”

_[I don’t just **THINK** he’ll show, Cap. I **KNOW**.]_

“Alright, then. I’ll let you know when he does. And you watch your six up there. We still don’t know what that thing's capable of.”

_[You too, Cap. Keep me posted.]_

Steve took off into another sprint. He was pretty sure he’d heard faint sounds of people screaming somewhere ahead. Now he just had to find the source.

Out of nowhere, Agent Romanoff’s voice came blaring through the comm link.

_[Just like Budapest all over again!!!]_

Steve slowed down unconsciously. What? Budapest?

_Is she talking to me?_

_[You and I remember Budapest **very** differently.]_ Agent Barton said a few seconds later.  

Oh. She was talking to Agent Barton.

_Of course, dummy. Why would she be talking to you?_

Right.

Steve increased his pace, jumping over cars and fallen lampposts, his sharp eyes scouring the terrain fervidly for the source of the screams he’d heard just now.

_Where…where…where…_

There!

Four people. Two couples, trapped inside an overturned black car. Steve reached them in a matter of seconds, and without ado, began analyzing the situation. Deciding not to flip the car over, Steve tried the handle of one of the doors. But it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s stuck!!” A man inside the car yelled, “All the doors are stuck!”

With his right arm, Steve yanked one door off its hinges like it was nothing.

“Get out! Now!” He ordered, and raised his shield to cover the aperture caused by the now-missing car door, just in case he needed to shield the victims as they got out.

Steve pulled out the two ladies first followed by the other two men.

“Can you run?” Steve asked once all of them they were out.

All four nodded their assent.

“Alright. There’s a bank over there,” Steve pointed in the direction he just came from, “just past Madison Avenue. Get over there and go to its basement.”

“O…Okay.” One of the ladies said.

“But before you go, I need to ask you guys something. Have you seen any officers around here? Police? The army?” Steve asked.

A blonde man replied, “Ah! Yes! There’s a police barricade not far from here.” He pointed further down West 42nd Street, “Just follow down this road, and you’ll see a bunch of police cars. I think they’re blocking off this entire street now.”

“Thanks, guys. Alright, now get outta here! Watch each other’s backs. And steer clear of the streets, use the sidewalks.” Steve said and took off once again.

The civilians were right about the barricade. There were at least 15 police cars lined up, and about 30 officers firing their guns at the sky.

Steve ran as fast as he could towards the barricade.

“It’s going to be an hour before they can scramble the National Guard!!” One of officers shouted.

“ _National Guard?_ Does the army know what’s happening here?!!” The older officer yelled.

“Do we?”

Steve jumped, and landed onto the roof of a police vehicle, stopping right in front of the two officers.

“You need men in these buildings.” Steve gestured towards the row of skyscrapers on his right, “There are people inside and they’re gonna be running right into the line of fire. You take them to the basement, or to the subway. You keep them **_off_** the streets.” Steve straightened his posture and pointed to his right, “I need a perimeter, as far back as 39 th.”

“Why the hell should I take orders from you?” The older officer challenged.

_Oh, come on…SERIOUSLY? You wanna do this now-_

BOOOM!!

Something exploded behind Steve.

In an instant, Steve was up on his feet, turning around just in time for him to notice a group of Chitauri chariots making a tight bend around the corner of a building.

And they were headed straight for the barricade at breakneck speed.

_Shit. Gotta draw their attention away from these officers._

Steve thought fast. 

Three chariots. 2 Chitauris on each.

 _Uh-oh._ Steve noticed the one standing on the furthest chariot aiming its rifle at him.

ZING!

Steve raised his shield and absorbed the beam.

But before he could even blink, two Chitauris leaped off their chariots and landed beside Steve on the same car he was standing on, flanking him on both sides.

With imperceptible speed, Steve rotated his torso anticlockwise, swinging his shield in a wide arc at the same time. It connected, sending the foe on his left hurtling a few feet into the air. Steve moved into a crouch and ducked behind his shield just as the second Chitauri (the one on his right) fired at him. Two shots.

ZING! ZING!

A pause, when the alien moved in to throw a punch at him.

Reflexively, Steve angled his shield outward to block the punch and at the same time, he threw out a powerful right cross.

The alien tumbled off the roof of the car and slammed into the ground.

The one on the left had recovered and had climbed back up onto the roof for round two. But before it could lift its long rifle, Steve caught its left arm like a vise and simultaneously swung his shield around in a strike which broke its neck in a sickening crunch. Releasing the arm of the now dead alien, Steve turned around to face the injured alien on his right, who had once again crawled its way up atop the car and who was also about to shoot him. With imperceptible quickness, Steve deflected the gun to the side, and brought the edge of his shield down and through its arm, slicing the limb off. The Chitauri shrieked in pain. And Steve finished it off with a sideway sweep of his shield, straight to the head.

The creature flew off like a ragdoll and slammed into a nearby police car, dead.

Steve sighed.

 _It took me 15 seconds just to take out **two** hostiles? _ Holy Mackerel, he must be getting really, _really_ rusty.

 **_Really_ ** _gonna have to upgrade my combat arsenal after this._

“See what you can do with this.” Steve tossed the energy gun towards the younger officer who scrambled to catch it mid-air.

Steve then eyed the older officer in charge, who now appeared to be giving out orders as per his previous instructions. _Typical._ Words only count when they come from someone who can pack a punch. He’d learnt that lesson ages ago. Nobody listens to a single shit that a 100-pound stickman says, _ever_.

“Work on that perimeter as fast as you can. And sweep the grounds as you go. Get the civilians underground. As many as you can.” Steve ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Steve jumped off the car.

Right. Now he had to get back to agents, who were hopefully still alive and kicking.

“Agent Romanoff. Agent Barton. Do you copy?”

Silence.

“Agent Romanoff. Agent Barton.” Steve tried again.

 _[Uh……the party’s getting loud here…]_ Came Agent Romanoff’s husky and slightly out-of-breath voice. _[A little help would be nice though! I mean, if you’re done freeing kitties from trees.]_

Steve had to stifle a laugh at that one.

_Intelligent. Beautiful. Confident. Packs a wallop. Knows how to handle herself. And has a sense of humor._

_My_ **God** _, woman. Are you even real?_

“Hold on, Ma’am. I’m on my way.” said Steve.

Great, now he had to find a way to wipe that silly grin off his face before somebody started accusing him of being in cahoots with the flippin’ Chitauri.

 

*     *     *

 

By the time Steve sprinted past Madison Avenue, he could already tell that the two agents were in serious trouble. The flyover in front of Grand Central Terminal along Park Avenue was, by then, swarming with Chitauri soldiers. There were at least a dozen of them surrounding the agents. Despite the fact that they were holding their own, the two SHIELD agents were both outmatched in terms of numbers and firepower.

 _[Well, we got its attention. What the hell was step two?]_ Stark’s snarky remark came through the comms.

Steve ignored it, choosing instead to focus on helping the two agents.

_Gotta get back up onto the flyover._

Spotting bus 1123 nearby, Steve hotfooted along East 42nd street, hightailing it towards a series of cars that he knew he could use to propel himself onto the bus.

Steve got back onto the flyover just in time to take out two Chitauri soldiers who were mere inches away from stabbing Agent Barton with the barrel of their rifles. Two more barged forward, but Steve took them out with two powerful swings of his shield before they could even raise their weapons.

And as if things weren’t bad enough as they were, seven more armed aliens materialized before them, all guns raised simultaneously and ready to fire.

_SHIT!_

He only had one shield. Not nearly enough to cover for all three of them. Thus, in a split microsecond, Steve formulated a plan:

_Shove Barton behind that car. Jump back and tackle Romanoff to the ground, shield us both-_

But before Steve could even move, all seven aliens convulsed uncontrollably, as if they were being electrocuted.  

Well, as it turned out, they _were_ , in fact, electrocuted, and by none other than the God of Thunder himself, who smash-landed on the flyover about a second later.

Steve let out a sigh.

_Good timing, big guy._

“What’s the story upstairs?” Steve asked, slinging his shield back onto his left forearm.

“The power surrounding the cube is impenetrable.” Thor said.

ZOOM! Another large batch of chariots banked around the corner of Grand Central Terminal.

 _[Thor’s right. We gotta deal with these guys.]_ Stark said through the comms.

“How do we do this?” Agent Romanoff asked.

“As a team.” Steve stated firmly.

“I have unfinished business with Loki.” Thor argued.

“Yeah? Well, get in line.” Agent Barton jeered at the Asgardian.

“Save it!” Steve commanded sharply, all the while praying to dear Deity that the death-glare Thor was throwing at the archer right then wouldn’t escalate into something nettlesome. Right now, he had to get all of them to focus on the problem at hand. Being torn apart by petty arguments was the last thing they all needed.

Working as a team was their only chance at winning this.

Steve said, “Loki’s gonna keep this fight focused on us and that’s what we need. Without him these things could run wild. We got Stark up top. And he’s gonna need us to-”

Steve turned around sharply at the sound of a…….umm. Ahem, _‘motorcycle’,_ which seriously looked like it was pulled straight out from a junkyard.

_Looks like Stark was right. He really does show up._

That sorry excuse of a bike was soon abandoned beside a taxi and Doctor Bruce Banner got down.

“So. This all seems…horrible.” Doctor Banner commented lightly.

“I’ve seen worse.” Agent Romanoff said in a dry tone.

“Sorry.”

“No. We could...use…a little worse.”

“Stark, we got him.” Steve said.

_[Banner?]_

“Just like you said.”

 _[Then tell him to **suit up.** ] _A pause. _[I’m bringing the party to you.]_

A second later, they saw Iron Man veering around the corner of a tall building, the Manhattan Ballroom. And closely in pursuit was that much-dreaded whale-like, scaly creature.

CRASH!!

The windows at one corner of the Manhattan Ballroom building shattered into pieces the moment it got caught up in the creature’s _‘fins’_. So powerful was the blow that it had taken out the entirety of the building’s foundation at that corner. Hell, Steve could have sworn that he’d seen the building sway a little.

_Holy Mackerel…_ Steve’s jaw slackened.

Jesus Christ. What in Heaven’s name was that thing?! And how were they supposed to destroy it without causing more collateral damage?

From behind him, Steve heard Thor’s growl. Of anticipation? Of anger? Steve really couldn’t tell. All he knew was that they had to do something smart real soon. And he had a feeling that it would be best if it involved a _lot_ of green, and anger.

“I…I don’t see how that’s a party.” Agent Romanoff commented, again with her dry sense of humor. But Steve couldn’t find it in himself to be amused. Not this time, when they were all about this close to becoming legitimate Chitauri food. A bitter thought crossed his mind, and Steve felt something tightened in his core. Seriously? He’d survived 70 years on ice only to become an alien’s quick snack? Guess he should’ve jumped off that platform at the train station yesterday when he had the chance.

Seconds ticked by, and that seemingly unstoppable _thing_ kept gliding closer and closer towards the five heroes on the ground. The monster seemed to possess the hallmarks of a hungry baleen whale, what with its mouth hanging wide open like that. Everything else in its path were like helpless planktons in the path of a whale, waiting to be devoured. At some point, the creature lowered itself onto the ground, thus crushing all objects beneath with its hideous belly. It wagged its tail from side to side in perilous sweeps, leaving a dense nebula of dust and soot and grime and _dirt_ in its trail.

Steve could now feel the vibration beneath his feet. Reverberating bitumen, trembling tar. And the deep rumbling sound which followed felt all too much like the Grim Reaper’s trumpet: the augury of a painful and frightening death.

Upon a closer look, Steve noticed that the creature’s head came in 2 sections, with the top section at least thrice the size of the lower section. With its mouth opened wide, the twin rows of abominable and metallic demon-teeth became strikingly conspicuous. For a moment, Steve was reminded of the Leviathan, the Biblical sea monster depicted in the Book of Jobs. And further down into the creature’s throat, Steve could even make out its innards. A tinge of blue, like blue stage lights, or rather, like a go-sign for the beast to start devouring anything in its path.

Feeling completely helpless, Steve shared a look with Doctor Banner.

And then without another word, the doctor turned around, and started _walking_ up towards the incoming creature.

“Doctor Banner!” Steve shouted, and then took a few hasty steps forward of his own.

The good doctor kept walking, never once looking back.

“Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.” Steve said, his voice laced with trepidation and anticipation.

This time, the doctor did look back, but his steps never slowed.

“That’s my secret Cap.” said Doctor Banner.

Just when the incoming monster was about 20 feet away from Doctor Banner, he stopped, and stared back at the four of them. A look of pure resignation reigned over the doctor’s carob irises, as if he knew he had no other choice but to show them the other side of him.

“I’m always angry.”

The moment Doctor Banner turned back around, something……happened, something amazing. Right before Steve’s very eyes, the doctor’s physique bulked up. Inflated up like (for the lack of a better term) a jacked balloon, as if someone had pumped gallons and gallons of green gas into the good doctor’s body.

_And here I am, thinking that the weirdest thing science had ever created was me._

Guess he owed Fury another ten bucks.

ROOARRRR!!!!!!! The green beast howled, hammering his fist right into the head of the flying creature.

And _Gadzooks…_

So powerful was the punch that the massive creature downright stopped in its track, and began flipping over its head due to the inertia of its tail.

And now, the creature’s tail was about to crush all of them like ants beneath a boot.

_Uh-oh._

Steve’s mind raced.

_Dodge? No. Not enough space. And it’s coming down too fast._

_Gonna have to blow it apart._

_Stark or Thor?_

_Stark would know the weak spots of this thing._

“Stark!!” Steve yelled into the comms.

 _[Hold on!!]_ Came the reply.

And in an instant, a tiny missile zoomed over Steve’s head, hitting the creature square at the underside of its belly. The entire structure burst into flames.

Instinctively and unthinkingly, Steve dove towards the beautiful redhead, thus shielding them both from the burning debris.

He could smell her again.

_Floral. Like jasmine. And rose._

Even amidst explosions and flames and dirt and grime, he could still smell her. And he was pretty sure that it wasn’t just because of his enhanced senses. Good God, it was like his senses just _wanted_ to stay attuned to her. It was like…his mind couldn’t help but pay attention to her and only her.

Heat? Fire? Smoke? Smog? Dust? Pieces of gooey alien viscera splattering all around them? Whatever. At that point, Steve honestly couldn’t give much of a damn. All he could see right then was that full head of fiery auburn hair, and the way in which her curvaceous body fit so perfectly against his own, like a cast and its mold, like an all-too-clichéd lock and its goddamn key.

**As if she belonged there, up against his body, by _HIS_ side.**

And when their brief physical contact ended after the petering out of the explosions, Steve didn’t even bother pretending that his heart hadn’t just skipped a few beats at the sound of her throaty voice, and at the words that she had whispered to him, _for him_ and him only:

“Thank you, Captain.”

And the most wondrous of all? When the team began gathering around each other in a tight circle, she had actually _chosen_ to remain by _his_ side instead of running back to Agent Barton. She stayed. She stayed by his side. His heart swelled. Pleasure coursed through his veins. Because amidst all the chaos of battle, and the imminent threat of death, and the Hulk’s roar, and the high-pitched shrieks of the Chitaurian battle cry; amidst all _that_ , and yet she had still chosen to stand by _his_ side. Well, call him crazy, but to Steve Rogers, that just felt mad swell. So swell that not even the grotesque sight of fully unmasked Chitaurian faces could dwindle it.

The Hulk sounded his own war cry; another thunderous and core-shaking roar. A roar that should’ve induced chills straight down one’s spine. But instead of fear, Steve now felt strength. Steve felt strength and power behind that roar. He felt the dawn of _teamwork_ and the genesis of a comradeship between six powerful but unique individuals.

It was the birth of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

The green beast’s roar culminated with the quick and powerful snap of Agent Barton’s bow. A heavy and metallic thud sounded from somewhere behind Steve, where the Iron Man had taken stance on the ground. Two sharp clicks of Agent Romanoff’s guns followed suit along with the deep humming resulting from the twirl of Thor’s hammer.

Slinging the iconic shield back onto his left arm, Steve knew right then that the Avengers had rallied. And that they just might have a chance at victory.

It was time.

Time for them to fight back.

Time to avenge.

 

* * *

 

  **THE BATTLE OF NEW YORK**

 

**Friday, 3:37PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Park Avenue Viaduct, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: A flyover parallel to and on top of Park Avenue. In front of Grand Central Terminal’s Statue Clock.**

Years of battle experience had taught Steve Rogers one thing: brute strength doesn’t always win wars. And as far as _he_ knew, there was only one foolproof path towards a victorious battle: robust tactics.

Steve was well aware that right now, this team needed a plan more than anything else. This team needed a direction. They needed a good, solid battle plan that would utilize each of their abilities to the fullest advantage. And thanks to the Super Soldier Serum, Steve Rogers possessed a mind so quick that it was capable of formulating a battle plan in mere _seconds’_ time. He could do this. This was what Captain America does best. This was his game, his forte, his métier.

Game on.

And the first step was always to identify the immediate threats and to sort out their priorities.  

_There are three priorities here. One, closing that portal. Two, keeping the civilians safe. And three, preventing these things from running wild._

_What are our strengths?_

Pronto, Steve recognized and acknowledged Thor to be their biggest gun.

_Thor. Highly versatile fighter. Flight ability. Melee hitter capable of inflicting heavy damage. And with the lightning, he is probably our heaviest ranged hitter too. He’s our best chance at log jamming that portal and slowing down incoming threats._

_The Hulk. Heaviest hitter on the team. But is restricted to melee attacks. Could be unstable. Best assign to deal with Leviathan-like creatures, for two main reasons. One, can take down those things quickly with his immense strength. Two, can keep him off the ground and away from the civilians for as long as possible._

_Iron Man. Genius level intellect. Scientific prowess. He might be the best chance we’ve got at shutting down that portal. Flight ability. Heavy ranged hitter. Medium level melee hitter. His flight allows him cover a wide areal range. That, plus with his sophisticated monitoring and sensing equipment, he can secure the perimeter and prevent enemy forces from straying off._

_Barton. Skilled combatant. Expert marksman. Keen eyes. Best skill set to keep an eye on the enemy’s fight patterns and civilian safety. Limited ammunition. Must assign him to a place with minimal enemy contact. Best assignment place would be a secure roof-top with secure lower floors where he could escape to if need be._

_Romanoff. Expert combatant and skilled ground-fighter. Highly versatile skill-set. Can adapt to pretty much any situation. And can handle anything assigned to her. Assignment TBD. For now, both of us can work on sweeping the grounds and getting civilians to safety. However, she has limited ammunitions. Therefore, best to keep her close to me at all times._

“Guys…” Agent Romanoff said grimly from beside him.

All eyes turned towards the gaping hole in the sky.

Steve saw two more of those whale-like creatures barged in through the portal.

_Damn it. They’re already regrouping._

_[Call it, Captain.]_ Iron Man’s metallic voice rang out.

Steve stepped forward, “Alright, listen up. Until we can close that portal, our priority is containment.”

“Barton, I want you on that roof. Eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays.”

“Stark. You got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash. And start working on ways to shut down that portal.”

Steve turned towards Thor.

“You wanna give me a lift?” Barton asked.

 _[Right. Better clench up, Legolas.]_ A second later, Iron Man took to the air together with Agent Barton.

_Thor doesn’t like to be ordered around. So I’m really gonna have to watch my words here…_

“Thor. You gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow ‘em down. You got the lightning. Light the bastards up.” Much to Steve’s relief, Thor nodded his assent and began swinging his hammer in rapid circles.

A moment later, the God of Thunder soared into the air towards the Chrysler building. Steve turned to the redhead, “You and me, we stay here on the ground. We keep the fighting here.”

“And Hulk!” Steve paused. The green beast grunted.

Steve raised his right pointer towards the sky where two whale-like creatures were floating in.

He gave the beast a slight nod.

“ **Smash.** ”

The Hulk, apparently finding that directive to be quite an enjoyable one, threw back a satisfied grin. And _boy_ could the Hulk jump like no other. Seriously, the beast could jump so high that he might as well be flying!

From building to building, the Hulk leaped, _squashing_ and _trampling_ every Chitauri soldier in his path. So savage were the blows that Steve was even beginning to feel a little bit of pity for those poor Chitauri soldiers. Pretty sure the bastards never even knew what hit them.

Steve stepped closer to Agent Romanoff.

_So, it’s just us now._

Steve stared into her eyes. Her large, sharp, and oh-so-beautiful emerald eyes. He was about to ask her if she had enough ammunitions left when a sudden darkness descended upon the terrain. Booming thunder rolled over the half-wrecked NYC with rage and fury.

_Thor…_

The soldier and the spy glanced upwards, and saw storm clouds, dark and heavy ones, amassing above the summit of the Chrysler building, charged with deadly wrath. All of a sudden, a massive bolt of lightning struck down from the sky, affixing itself with the pointed summit of the Chrysler building. Sparks of blue adorned the building, the shattered glass windows and the melted steels nothing but a sign of Mjolnir’s overwhelming strength.

With a vicious roar, the God of Thunder swung out his hammer, unleashing his full wrath upon the portal.   

_Come on, Thor. Send these things to kingdom come._

One bolt became two, and two became four as Mjolnir’s lightning lashed out like deadly whips against the incoming Chitauri forces. Chariots began falling off the sky in charred pieces. And in the throes of electrocution, the gigantic whale-like Leviathans thrashed spasmodically in the air, hurtling back towards the other side of the portal, battering and damaging their neighboring allies in the process. Such a magnificent feat of power, and Steve was just glad, so _damned_ glad, that Thor was on their side.

“Good job, Thor.” Steve muttered under his breath and turned back to the woman beside him, “How many rounds do you have left?”

“Not much.”

“Think you got enough to last the fight?”

That wasn’t really a question. Because Steve already knew the answer.

The redhead shrugged off his concerns like it was nothing, “It’s fine. I’ll just have to get a little creative. So, what’s the play?”

For a moment, Steve surveyed the flyover, analyzing the situation. There were no Chitauris in their vicinity at the moment, but he was willing to bet that a lot of these things were still roaming over the streets, massacring civilians as they went.

Steve said, “A lot of these things are still running loose on the streets. We gotta-”

_Crap!_

“LOOK OUT!!” Steve yelled at the same time he dove in front of the redhead.

ZING! ZING! ZING!

The vibranium disk quivered slightly in his arms as it absorbed the blue beams.

BANG! BANG!

Two Chitauri soldiers fell to the ground, dead. Agent Romanoff lowered her hand guns in relief.

“You okay, Ma’am?” Steve got up to his feet.

“Yeah…” She said breathlessly, “Thanks to you.”

“It’s no problem.” Steve nodded. Once again, he succumbed to Agent Romanoff’s beauty. He stared. He stared into the woman’s eyes.

_God, she’s beautiful…_

The redhead smiled and tilted her head.

“So. You were saying, Captain?”

“Right. Ahem. Um. We have to start sweeping the grounds and get the civilians to safety. The people are like sitting ducks out there. Maybe we can get the army to set up a bigger barricade and then work on getting the civilians behind those lines. But here’s the hardest part though. We gotta figure out a way to draw the Chitauri’s attention to us and not-”

Steve never got to finish his sentence before the redhead delivered a swift and powerful kick to his butt. And boy oh _boy_ did the poor old soldier stumbled; flailing hands, gaping mouth, unmanly squeaks and all. Oh, hell. He couldn’t have seen that coming, not for the life of him. For the first time in his life, Steve Rogers had gotten his _ass_ kicked by a woman, literally.

_Holy Mackerel…_

Before Steve even hit the ground, Agent’s Romanoff’s handguns fired off three successive rounds. BANG! BANG! BANG! Now pathetically sprawled on the ground, Steve could only watch in awe as the three foes who were just moments ago about to shoot him from behind, dropped dead. Three bullets. One for each head. Each hitting them right in the forehead between the eyes.

 _She’s amazing…_ Steve stared slack-jawed as the redhead sauntered up to him and offered her hand. He gladly took the outstretch hand and was instantly pulled up onto his feet. Not that he needed the hand, but **_damn_** people, this dame had just kicked his ass _and_ saved his life, all in one move. So yeah, forgive him if he swooned a little.

Steve blushed, “Thank you, Ma’am. I uh…” Steve hesitated, a sheepish look plastered on his face, “I’m… well, I’m not used to being saved.”

The redhead only smirked. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Cap.” She said teasingly.

The sheepish look quickly transformed into that of admiration, “You fight really well, Ma’am.” Steve praised.

“Thanks.” She hesitated, as if surprised by his open acknowledgement of her skills, but then she smiled teasingly once again, “You seem to be a little out of touch though.”

_God. Tell me about it. Didn’t even notice those things behind me just now. Not to mention you’ve just kicked my sorry ass. Ugh._

Steve blushed, “I’m a little rusty.”

“What’s wrong? Getting _cold_ feet?” The dame sallied, green eyes twinkling in mischief. And no. He did not miss the pun she’d so cleverly inserted right there. Good _Christ_. Bless this woman and her never-ending witticisms and bon mots.

Steve smiled a little, “70 years on ice, Ma’am. It’s not just the feet that’re cold.”

 _[Stark…You got a lot of strays sniffing your tail.]_ Agent Barton said, causing both the soldier and the spy to peer up towards the roof top, where they saw the archer releasing arrow after arrow, dropping chariots from the sky with each shot.

 _[Just trying to…keep them off the streets.]_ Stark said.

Right. Back to mission.

“You ready?” Steve asked the spy.

She nodded once, “Where do we start?”

 _[Well they can’t bank worth a damn. Find a tight corner.]_ Agent Barton said.

 _[I will……roger that.]_ Stark said.

“Stark’s gonna keep these things centered here, hopefully within 3 blocks. So I say we start from this street.” Steve pointed along East 42nd, “But don’t go off too far. Stay within a three block range.”

What Steve had left unsaid, however, was that he wanted to keep the lady close by so that he could get to her in time should she require aid. If she’d somehow picked up on the hidden agenda behind his instruction, she didn’t show it. Inwardly, Steve couldn’t help but feel a slight relief. He’d absolutely hate the idea of offending a lady. Offending a lady was the bane of his existence. 

“You wanna take left?” She asked.

Steve nodded, “Alright. Let’s move. And stay on the comms.”

With a curt nod, the redhead did a one-eighty and sashayed towards the right wing of the flyover. Steve watched her retreating form with deep unease. To be honest, Steve (and his gentlemanly soul) was worried about her. What if she encountered Loki? What if she ran out of ammo? What if she got shot? 

Something exploded nearby.

 _[Oh… **boy** ] _Stark said.

With a sudden burst of impetus, Steve lunged forward and seized the redhead’s arm. “Ma’am…” He said urgently.

The redhead whirled around, brows raised.

“Be careful…” He said in a deep tone.

She nodded and threw a quick smile, “You too.”

“You gotta watch your six out there. These things beat us in sheer numbers. So if you see a rat pack, don’t engage. Try isolating them first, and then take ‘em out one by one.” Steve advised, and then levelled her a stern look, “And if you see Loki, **_do not_** engage. Ask Stark to track down Thor. Thor would know best how to deal with Loki.”

She smirked, “Roger, _Rogers._ ”

And just like that, she sauntered away. With a sharp whip of crimson locks, she walked away. Leaving behind a half-amused Steve Rogers who seriously didn’t know whether to laugh or to be offended at the fact that she’d just given his ass some legitimate 21st century sassin’.

And _damn_ did the lady know a thing or two about keeping this old soldier on his half-frozen toes.

 _Dames are usually not this sassy back in the day._ Steve shook his head and smiled.

 _Guess times really have changed._ Though, he wouldn’t exactly call it a _bad_ change per se. He'd always thought sassiness to be one of the most attractive qualities a woman could have, despite the dearth of it back in his day.

Another explosion sounded a couple blocks away.

 _[Nice call. What else you got?]_ Stark said.

 _[Well Thor is taking on a squadron down on sixth.]_ Agent Barton said.

 _[And he didn’t. Invite. Me…]_ Stark said.

Steve grinned and lower his gaze to the ground. _Yeah. Apparently, this team is **FILLED** with smartasses._

Then again, if he didn’t live through this day, at least he’d get to die with a smile on his face.

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 3:50PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Vanderbilt Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: A narrow alleyway in between buildings**

Steve skulked behind the potted plants. Each measured step he took brought him closer to the lone Chitauri soldier that was standing guard at the edge of the rooftop.

While covering the block earlier, Steve had spotted the lone Chitauri staking out on the rooftop of a building in Vanderbilt Avenue. And being about 30 meters off the ground, that rooftop was a considerable vantage point for the foe to snipe at civilians on open ground. Hence, Steve had immediately deemed the threat as exigent, and one that must be neutralized as soon as possible.  

Getting onto the rooftop hadn’t been too difficult.

A few leaps and hops, and with the damaged fire escape providing him sufficient footing, Steve had gotten onto the rooftop with much ease. However, that space, being a rooftop garden of some kind, warranted only close quarter melee combat, since there wasn’t sufficient space for him to execute a shield toss.

In other words, Steve would have to sneak up behind the bastard and break its neck. Incidentally, this was also one of the few times he wished he had a gun.

_Choke hold from behind. Disarm and use rifle if possible. If not, snap its nec-_

VROOM!

A civilian vehicle sped into the alley.

Damn it!

The moment the Chitauri soldier lifted the barrel of its rifle to take aim at the civilian SUV, Steve knew he had to act instantly. From his hiding place behind the flower pots, Steve pounced forward and barreled straight into the Chitauri soldier, parrying the rifle to the side. The blue energy beam caught the brick wall of the opposite building as Steve and his adversary went tumbling off the edge and falling towards the alley below. Utilizing his acrobatic prowess, Steve had managed to keep his body on top of his enemy throughout the fall and had managed to drive a knee straight into the alien’s stomach the moment they both impacted the ground.

Steve rolled over to his side, but something else caught his attention. It was coming from his right. He turned, and saw flames. Flames from the combusting hood of an SUV. An _incoming_ SUV which showed no signs of slowing down or braking. 

 _Uh-oh._   

“Arrgh!” With a loud grunt, Steve performed a superman pushup with all his strength, propelling his body a good 20 feet off the ground, keeping his body in the air long enough for the SUV to pass right under him.

Steve’s side slammed into the concrete as he landed, and there were a series of fearful screams, from two distinct voices: a woman and a child.

Steve watched in horror as the fallen Chitauri held on to the bumper of the SUV, howling and yowling for dear life.

A second later, a loud crash sounded. And the worst of Steve’s fears betided. The howling of the Chitauri turned into deep, animalistic growls as the alien smote its hideous arm all the way through the SUV’s rear windshield in an attempt to get a hold of the young child who was sitting at the back seat.

Steve had to act fast. He spotted his trusted shield lying dutifully by his side just two feet away. Grabbing the shield’s edge and springing up onto his feet in one swift move, Steve cocked the entire right half of his upper body backwards as an Olympian discus thrower undoubtedly would. And with all his superhuman strength, Steve flung the shield towards the back of the alien’s exposed neck.

Echoes of a loud snap resonated throughout the confines of the narrow alleyway as vibranium met Chitaurian flesh. But Steve didn’t stop there. He took off into a sprint, hoping to catch up to the SUV. However, not two steps later, Steve saw the SUV crashing headfirst into a row of dumpsters.

The SUV rolled to a stop, with the lower half of the Chitauri’s body dangling limply off the rear dashboard. Steve sighed in relief at the close call. If he had been just one second later, the alien would have crawled itself into the vehicle and killed everyone in it. 

Steve made the rest of the way to the SUV and upon reaching it yanked the dead alien off the vehicle.

A young boy, one with glasses and plait shirt, and one who was now holding onto his shield, stared back at him in awe. A second later, the boy scooted forward in the backseat and held out the shield to him.

Steve took it and gave the kid a brief nod.

Slinging the shield back onto his forearm, Steve said, “Get underground.”

“Yes, sir.” said the driver of the SUV, whom Steve assumed to be the father of the kid.

Steve left the alley and went back out onto the East 42nd. From a distance, he could hear the Hulk’s roar. Pieces of debris from ruined Chitauri chariots fell from the sky like meteor showers. Each chunk of burning detritus nothing but a somber reminder that victory remained far from reach. The urgency of the situation was now as palpable as it could be. That family just now had survived only by sheer luck. If he hadn’t been nearby just now, that family would have been killed. And with these things swarming through the portal by the second, there was no way they’d be able to keep the civilians from harm for much longer. Sooner or later, some unlucky family or some unlucky child would fall victim to these monsters.

Another flaming debris smashed into a nearby car. On instinct, Steve’s shield rose to cover his head.

_And the collateral damage……_

Steve sighed.

They were nowhere close to fixing this mess. Every _second_ would mean at least a dozen of these Chitauri bastards charging in through that hole in the sky. And there was literally nothing they could do about it except to figure out a way to shut down that portal – something which none of them had any slightest inkling on still.

_No. This won’t do…_

Steve lifted a finger to his ear.      

“Stark. Any ideas on how to close that portal yet?”

_[Still working on it.]_

“Work _faster_. We can’t afford to drag this out.”

Stark half-shouted through the comms, _[Hey, is anyone else out there who’s secretly a genius sans the ability to turn green? Wanna team up? Cuz we’re seriously understaffed. Besides, I don’t mind sharing the glory just this once, if that’s what it takes to stop the ongoing Invasion of the Spoonheads.]_

In a feat of monumental patience, Steve closed his eyes and counted to five in his head.

 _[…Might want to step on it though, before Manhattan turns into Lakarian City.]_ Stark rambled on.

Steve blew out a breath.

“Stark. Can you be serious for a second?”

_[What, did you miss that reference?]_

“ _Stark_ …” said Steve warningly.

_[Oh, come on! The Spoonheads? The Cardassians? The Dominion War? Star Trek? No?]_

“Stark!! For Christ’s sake…” Steve growled.

_[Okay. Okay. It’s just a coping mechanism...Jeez. Untwist your granny panties.]_

“The portal. What have you got so far?” Steve steered the conversation back on track. 

 _[The iridium’s stabilizing effect. That’s the only thing keeping the portal open.]_ Stark said. 

“Uh-huh…you might want to elaborate on that…” Steve said.

_[Antiprotons. That’s what they need the iridium for. They need it to create antiprotons. But to do that they’ll have to shoot a high-intensity proton beam at a conversion target. And this is where the iridium comes in, they have to use an iridium core as the conversion target due to iridium’s stability under the effects of temperature change.]_

"Stark-" Steve cut in.

The interjection went unheeded as the genius droned on. 

_[...Then again, the process of creating antiprotons itself requires huge amounts of energy. So far, they’ve managed to surpass the Coulomb barrier using the borrowed energy from my arc reactor, but that’s just to kick start the cube, it won’t be enough to-]_

“In _English_ …” Steve gritted.

A loud sigh passed through the comm link. _[We need to take out the device’s steady energy supply. Without it, the device can no longer produce antiprotons. And without antiprotons, the portal will collapse on itself. That’s the only way.]_

A brief silence obtained as the Captain went deep in thought.

“What if we get the Tower to power down? If the device draws power from the Tower, then…” Steve suggested.

_[No. JARVIS already did that. And it’s no use. The device is already self-sustaining.]_

“Self-sustaining?” Steve frowned, “But I thought you said it needs a steady power source...”

_[The Tesseract. The device is feeding on the Tesseract’s energy now.]_

“Okay…So you’re saying we just need to offset the Tesseract.”

_[In theory, yeah. But the thing is, we can’t. That device was set to utilize the Tesseract’s energy to form some kind of protective barrier. We can’t get anywhere near the device unless we find a way to breach that barrier…]_

Steve blew out a breath of frustration. _Damn it!_ He cursed. Vain. All their efforts were in vain. God. All his life, Steve had never felt this helpless before, despite having spent his final years dealing with HYDRA’s meticulous connivances.

Out of nowhere, a thought occurred to Steve.

He remembered something. Or rather, _someone._

_Doctor Selvig._

_He’s the one who built that machine…so maybe he knows how…_

A new hope surged through Steve’s being. 

“Stark. Can you get to Doctor Selvig? See if you can free him from Loki’s mind control. Selvig’s the one who built that device. He might know how to shut it down. Maybe there’s a built-in emergency switch or something.” Steve suggested.  

 _[Huh…that’s actually a nice call…But…wait. Hold on a second. I’m a little busy now I’m afraid…Uh-oh…]_ A grunt sounded through the comms. _[Yup…Okay. Now my hands are definitely full.]_ Came Stark’s strained voice.

“Hey! You alright up there?” Steve asked worriedly.

There was silence.

“Stark!!” Steve yelled.

Steve fleetingly thought of sending Thor to Stark’s location, just in case the man was in trouble. But he soon realized the sheer impossibility of that idea, since he hadn’t a single damn clue on how to contact Thor.

Seconds later, Stark’s response came through, much to Steve’s relief. _[Just prevented a little girl from becoming lizard prey. The girl’s alive, but she’s hurt. Gonna have to fly her off to somewhere safe first. Know a good place?]_

“There’s a joint barricade down on 39th. Take her there.” Steve said.

 _[Right. Got that.]_ Stark said, a little out of breath.

“You good?”

_[Yeah. Couple of bruised ribs. Otherwise, I’m good.]_

“Alright, Stark. Don’t worry about Selvig for now. I’ll send Agent Romanoff to work on him.”

 _[Copy that.]_  

“Wait, what about Loki? Where is he?”

 _[Uh…I don’t know…Probably flying around playing whack-a-Midgardian or something.]_ Said Stark.

Steve rolled his eyes. Then again, it was done in relief rather than annoyance. If Stark could still joke around, then he was probably fine.  

“Barton.” Steve said.

 _[Cap?]_ Came the reply.

“Location on the Hulk.”

_[He’s somewhere down 5 th, chasing the big fish.]_

“Alright, that’s good. But he might be unstable, so keep a close eye on him. And watch out for civilians in trouble.” Steve commanded.

 _[Affirmative.]_ Agent Barton said.

The comms went quiet, and Steve took a moment to regroup himself.

_Time to give Agent Romanoff her new assignment…_

Steve activated his comm link once again. “Agent Romanoff…” said Steve. It was in Steve’s firm belief that Agent Romanoff might know how to free Doctor Selvig from Loki’s mind control. After all, she had been the one who brought Agent Barton back onto their side. For several seconds, Steve waited patiently for a response.

The comm link relayed silence.

It seemed that for once, the spunky female agent had run out of witty ripostes. At least that was what he _hoped_ to be the case, and not something far worse.

“Agent Romanoff…” Steve repeated, and then he waited.

Much silence ensued. Steve frowned, and wallowed himself in a series of hard-core, ground-cracking pacing. He did not like this. Not a single bit.

Steve took off into a jog.

_God! What if she’s hurt? What if she’s dead?_

Steve slammed his boot into a wounded Chitauri who was wheezing on the ground.  

“Agent Romanoff!” Steve tried again, much louder this time. He waited for five more seconds, all of which were dominated by a bone-chilling silence.  

“Agent Romanoff!!! Do you copy?!” Steve yelled frantically.

More silence ensued. Steve’s blood ran cold.

 _[Nat’s outnumbered, Cap!]_ Agent Barton reported back instantly.

“Where?” Steve asked, almost too quickly.

_[The flyover. In front Grand Central.]_

“I’m on my way.” Steve said, his toned laced with urgency. _Hold on. Please hold on. Don’t go dying on me, Ma’am._

 

*     *     *

 

Steve ran, as fast as his two legs could carry him. Back in the war, he could run a mile in just over a minute even while carrying an injured soldier on his back. He had always hoped to break that record someday. Now was as good a time as any. Steve flew past Madison Avenue in a streak of red, white and blue. He could see the flyover now. But unfortunately, bus 1123 was gone. Well, _technically,_ it was still there. Just that it no longer had the physical qualities of a bus.    

_Looks like I’m gonna have to jump straight up onto the bridge._

Slowing down a little, Steve squinted, and saw that there was only one Chitauri soldier left standing and fighting against the female agent. But Agent Romanoff had clearly lost the upper hand; the enemy had had her back pressed down against the hood of a car. Mid sprint, Steve leaped off the ground, propelling his body upwards into a parabolic projectile. At the peak of the projectile, Steve thrusted out his right arm and grabbed onto the flyover’s side railing. Steve grunted the moment he felt his side slamming into hard concrete.  

ZING!!!!!!!!!!!!

Steve’s veins went rimy the exact moment he heard the Chitaurian rifle go off. His blood froze in terror.

THUD!

_Oh no. Am I too late? God, please no. No. NO! NO!!!_

With an abrupt jerk of his arm, Steve flung himself up and over the railing. He landed on the bridge, dreading what he would find.

Steve sighed in relief, almost dropping his shield to the ground.

_Thank God…_

Right there in front of him stood the redhead, with the alien rifle in her hand, _victorious_ , and with about twenty-five dead Chitauri soldiers strewn all over the floor beneath her feet. And right then, Steve thought he had never seen a woman so strong, so lethal, so capable, and _oh-so-beautiful._

As if sensing Steve’s presence behind her, the redhead whipped around sharply. The barrel of the rifle rose to level against his heart.

Steve had barely managed to raise his shield before she lowered the rifle and backed away from him. Agent Romanoff leaned her backside against the hood of the car. Her chin dug against her breastbone as she stared vacuously at her feet. Her breathing came in rapid and heavy pants.

 _She’s running out of steam._ Steve thought as he closed the distance between them.

_This is on me. I shouldn’t have left her on her own knowing that she’s low on ammunition._

“Captain, none of this is gonna mean a damn thing if we don’t close that portal…” said the female agent, her voice breathless and throaty from fatigue.  

The soldier and the spy glanced up at the portal, where tiny black dots of doom transpierced the afternoon azure, continually, and in rapid effluxions. Like ink droplets of despair staining the ivory linens of hope. As if the dandelions of death had burst asunder due to a strong gust of wind and thus unleashing their dark, noxious pollens into the air.

 

“Our biggest guns couldn’t touch it.” said Steve, his tone grim. He couldn’t see a quick end to this mess no matter how he looked at it.

“Well, maybe it’s not about guns.” Agent Romanoff commented, her tone struck Steve as confident. As if she had a plan in mind. This was maybe the third (or fourth) time of the day that the woman had managed to turn Steve’s head by the mere words which came out of her mouth.

Completely in awe, Steve stared at her in stupor, wondering if this amazing dame did know of a way to put an end to this hellhole after all (as if she hadn’t scored enough points in his eyes already). Until the full implications of her words hit him face-first: _wait…she’s planning to get up there._

Then again, just as well, since Steve was about to ask her to go work her magic on Selvig anyway. And Selvig was most probably still somewhere on top of Stark Tower. Meaning, she would have to get up there eventually.

“If you wanna get up there, you’re gonna need a ride.” Steve said just as a small group of Chitauri chariots zoomed over their heads.

ZOOM!

Agent Romanoff glanced up, “I got a ride.” she said, throwing the rifle to the ground.

Steve did a double take.

_What?_

Once again, it was in the way she had said it; the way in which those words just seemed to roll off her tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world.

_Wait…did she just…is she actually considering…?_

Steve’s eyes widened in realization, his gaze now following the chariots which had flown by.

_No way. No damn way._

The redhead strode confidently towards the opposite railing of the flyover, glancing up at those passing chariots every few steps she took.

Steve eyed the redhead in complete reverence.

_Christ...She’s actually serious about this..._

“I could use a boost, though.” said the redhead when she reached the opposite railing.

 _Zooterkins…_ Steve thought as he began backing away towards his end of the railing, shield raised.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve couldn’t help but ask.

Not that he didn’t have faith in her skills or whatnot. It was just……a little……crazy and…well… _fine_ , he was worried. There.

But the next thing she said to him, though? That downright blew him away:

“Yeah. It’s gonna be fun.”

Fun. It was going to be _fun_ was what she said. And she actually said it in a jolly tone. Good Heavens above.

Steve barely even had time to drop his jaw before the amazing woman began sprinting towards him in full speed, arms swinging at her sides and crimson locks blazing in their fiery glory. She stepped onto the hood of the car whence she leaped up and forward towards him. That instant her combat boots touched the surface of his shield, that precise juncture, when he felt her entire body weight resting upon his shield, Steve felt a change deep within him. As if something had been enkindled within his soul. Enkindled. Set ablaze, by the sparks of admiration. Rendered _afire_ , by the matchstick of her beauty and tenacity. And as he catapulted her body into the air, Steve thought that maybe from that day onwards, he never had to feel the cold again. He thought that maybe, just maybe, this woman could be the fire that would thaw out his ice.

**Because for the very first time since he voyaged into this brave new world, Steve Rogers felt a scintilla of warmth.**

And it was all because of her.

**She was his flame.**

**She was his fire.**

**She was his candle; one that could illume the dark cave that was the 21 st century.**

Steve watched her fly, watched her soar. Up, up and up she went. And down, down and down his jaw dropped.

Steve's eyes never once left her form, they followed her every movement as her lithe form made its way onto a Chitauri chariot. And when a Chitauri soldier was forcibly kicked off the chariot which she had so effortlessly hijacked, Steve felt a quick hitch in his breath.

That woman literally took his breath away.

_She’s amazing._

And, also at that moment, something else happened. Something which had never ever happened to Steve Rogers in the middle of a battlefield before (and he had been in a _lot_ of those): he felt desire.

Steve Rogers felt desire, right in the middle of a warzone.

Steve Rogers desired the redhead.

ZING!!!

BOOM!!!

The concrete railing behind him exploded, and his shield went up by reflex.

Steve glanced left. And then his right.  

Well, what do you know? It turned out that he had been too enthralled by the redhead’s stunt to perceive a group of Chitauri soldiers who’d already had him cornered from both ends of the bridge. There were at least thirty of them, yet Steve hadn’t even noticed their presence until one of them had fired a terribly aimed shot at him.

“Oh, _hell…_ ” Steve muttered.  

Thirty. Thirty clumsy aliens, _eluding_ Steve Rogers’ _enhanced_ senses. All because he’d been too busy making sheep eyes at a dame.

Steve sighed.

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Did he have it bad for this dame or **_what_**?

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 4:13PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: East 42 nd Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: A bank building past Madison Avenue, an underground basement in that bank**

“You know, it’s kinda unfair…” Beth whispered from beside him, and for the first time since the two couples joined their hideout about 30 minutes ago, Themba’s mind stopped trying to anatomize the situation they were entangled in.

Slowly, Themba turned and looked questioningly at his companion, “What is?” He whispered back.

“I mean, you already know my name……and I still don’t know yours.”

A tiny smile formed on Themba’s face and he turned away, “Technically, it’s not unfair if you never asked.”

There was a minor chatter to his right, where Mr. Roly-Poly was huddled up together with his buddies. Mr. Roly-Poly was busy tweeting on his phone while his buddies prattled on about something. Apparently, Mr. Roly-Poly was a big twitter fan. And in a moment of fleeting amusement, Themba truly wondered if 140 characters could be enough to satisfy Mr. Roly-Poly’s loud, verbose, and loquacious disposition.  

Beth shrugged. “Well, as you can see, we’ve all been kinda busy. Hole in the sky and everything…”

Themba turned back to Beth.

“True.”

“Anyways. I’m asking you now. So. What’s your name, big guy?”

“Themba.” He whispered.

“Huh. That’s an African name…”

Instinctively, Themba tensed up and he frowned, “Is that a problem?”

Beth flinched back with both hands raised in a placatory gesture. “Oh. No. No. That’s not what I…Well, I mean, it’s just…I just kinda assumed that you’re American so…” said Beth sheepishly.

Great, now he felt like an asshole.

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I really didn’t mean to sound so defensive.” Themba shook his head and waved a hand above his forehead, “It’s the stress and everything…”

“Hey, chill. I think you’ve done a great job. You kept us together and led us to safety.” Beth reassured.

“Yeah, about that…I wouldn’t be too sure about _safe_. I’m starting to hear more and more noises out there. If the army failed to fight them off, sooner or later, these things _will_ find us. And there won’t be anywhere else for us to run.” said Themba grimly.

“It’s not just the army that’s fighting the aliens, though.” said a man who was sitting behind them, causing both Beth and Themba to pivot around. It was one of the guys from the quartet who’d joined their hideout just now. The quartet consisted of two couples. Two men and two women.

Themba pondered the man’s words for a brief moment.

“Well, we all know that Captain America’s fighting them, too. And technically, Cap’s still a soldier…” Themba commented.  

“And Iron Man too…” Beth added, she looked at Themba, “You told me before.”

Themba nodded, “Right.”

“No, but there were more of them.” said the man.

“More of…what? Aliens?” Beth asked.

The man shook his head.

“The four of us?” The man paused and gestured to the others who were seated beside him, “On our way over here, we saw two more guys fighting off the aliens.”

Themba’s brows shot up in curiosity, “Who?”

The man shook his head, “We don’t know. But I’m telling you man, one of them was terrifying as hell. He was this _big_ , _green_ dude, and he was chasing down one of those huge flying things in the sky when we saw him.”

“And the other one?” asked Themba.

“The other one was pretty cool, I guess. He had something like a hammer. And he could fly.” said the man.

“He saved us.” Said a blonde woman who sat beside the man, “I mean, the hammer guy.”

The man nodded and let out chuckle of disbelief, “Oh hell yeah he did.”

“What happened?” asked Beth.

The man leaned forward and began his recollection, “When the Cap found us somewhere in West 42nd, he told us to come to this bank. But he also asked us to stay away from the open grounds, right? So we did. We didn’t come here through 42nd, but through 43rd, figured there’d be more cover protection there, with more tall buildings and all that. So we were just about to cut into Madison Avenue, I think we were at…I think it was some college or something…where were we again, honey?”

“In front of Berkeley College…” answered the woman quickly.

“Right. We were there, and then all of a sudden, there were about 5 or 6 of those flying cart thingies that the aliens were using, all heading straight at us. We knew we were screwed. We’ve got nowhere else to run. And even if we did run, those things could fly. We had no chance.” The man paused his narrative and drew in a short breath, “But then out of nowhere, the dude with the hammer flew over our heads and kicked them alien arses in like, 3 seconds or something.”

“And then?” Themba listened in fascination.

“Then he flew off. To Pershing Square I think.”

“Seriously…who _are_ these people?” Beth exhaled.

The man sighed, “Well, whoever they are, I’m just glad that they’re out there fighting for us…I mean, _damn_ , have you _seen_ those things flying around? Those are monsters and aliens out there. And I’m tellin’ you, the army can’t do jack squat.”

“Wait. You said that Cap _found_ you?” Beth asked.

“Yep.”

“So…what happened to you guys? I mean before Cap found you.” Beth asked.

This time, it was the woman who answered, “We were stuck in our car somewhere in West 42nd. It got flipped over when the aliens shot at us. Cap pulled us out.”

“Is he even the real Cap?” Beth questioned, “I mean…wasn’t he supposed to be dead? They say he was killed during World War 2, right?”

Themba sighed, “I’ve been thinking about that question over and over again ever since I met him just now.”

“Wait, you met him too?” Asked the man.

Themba nodded, “You see that man over there? The one with the broken leg?”

“Yeah?”

“Cap was the one who brought him here.”

“I see.”

Themba sighed, “I was wondering about that question. About whether he is the same Cap from the 1940s. I mean, it didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but when I talked to him before, he just had this…” Themba paused and tried hard to find the right words for it, “this aura, you know? It just somehow feels like he’s the legit Cap. Maybe it’s the way he talks or something, I don’t know. It’s just, he had this, kind of…old-fashioned speech pattern when he spoke to me just now…But it’s not really scientific, of course. I mean, we’ve never even met the real Cap before, so how can we tell for sure, right?”

The man shrugged, “Don’t know about you guys, but I think he’s legit.”

“How do you figure?” asked Themba.

“You know how Cap’s got the super strength and stuff, right?”

Themba nodded.

“See, we were trapped in our car because the doors were stuck. And you wanna how he pulled us out? He ripped off the car door with one arm like it was nothing.” said the man.

Beth’s eyes widened, “Holy shit.” She whispered.

Themba remained silent in thought. And then a few seconds later, he had a revelation, “Yeah. I guess it makes sense now. They found the shield after all. So that means they must’ve found the real Cap too.” Themba said.

“But what if the shield’s a fake?” asked Beth.

Themba snorted, “Please. I’m from Wakanda. I know genuine vibranium when I see one. That shield the guy was carrying? That’s the real thing. It’s made from real vibranium. I saw it with my own two eyes.” By the time Themba stopped whispering, he was met with look of shock from all 5 individuals seated around him. “Wha…what? What did I say?” He asked very timidly.

“You…You’re from Wakanda…” Beth whispered, her expression still in awe.

“Err…surprise?”

“Wow…That’s...awesome.” Beth said.

Themba smiled, “Honestly, I’m pretty surprised too. Most people never even heard of my nation.”

“Not exactly our fault you know.” Beth said dryly.

“Yeah I know. I’m kinda sick of Wakanda’s closed-border policies too. That’s why I came to the States to study.”

“I wonder why though?” asked Beth.

“Why what? Oh, you mean the closed borders?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there _is_ a good reason for that I suppose…you wouldn’t want vibranium bullets or missiles to be flying all over the world, would you?” Themba said.

Beth nodded, “Right. Makes sense.”

“Shh!” All of a sudden, Themba pressed his index finger to his lips, “Did you guys hear that?”

“What? Hear what?” Beth whispered.

“Shh. Listen.” Themba said as he climbed to his feet.

The entire space they were at had a design similar to that of an open basement. A curvy stairway sat at one corner. It came in a spiral, and would lead up to a metal door which opened to the ground floor. It was a great hideout, especially since there was a secure metal door which blocked the stairway’s exit.    

Essentially, by hiding down there, they were completely underground and secure.

There was, however, a catch.

Right at the center of the basement’s ceiling, was a hatch. A _huge_ one. The hatch opened up directly into the floor above. In other words, anyone from the ground floor could, in theory, be able to open the hatch and see all of them down at the basement; which was precisely what the Captain had done when he brought the injured man here. Themba, Beth, and the two couples who were the last ones to enter the bank were all sitting at the corner closest to the stairs.

Themba pressed his ears firmly against a nearest wall and listened. He heard thumping. A lot of thumping. Somebody, or worst, _something_ , was up there.

Themba sprung away from the wall and turned to the rest, “Shh!!! Guys. Quiet. I think something’s going on up there.” he hissed.

“YOU KNOW I’M A LITTLE SICK AND TIRED OF YOU GIVING THE ORDERS AROUND HERE, LAD.”

Mr. Roly-Poly, it seemed, was just as loud as he was obese. Or, wait, maybe it was the severe lack of IQ points in that fat head of his. Maybe idiots just tend to speak louder because their reasoning wasn’t ‘sound’ and they’d have to use other forms of sound (or rather, _noise_ ) to be heard?

“Shh!!!! Are you trying to get us all killed?” Themba seethed. Man, he really had about enough of this buffoon. Maybe they should all just kick him out and let the aliens feast on his potbelly.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW IT’S NOT THAT WEIRD GUY WITH THE FUNNY COSTUME COMING BY TO DROP ANOTHER FEW MORE PEOPLE?” argued super genius Roly-Poly.

Themba rolled his eyes, “If it’s the Captain, would he have waited _this_ long to open the hatch? Since, you know, he’d already figured out there’s a hatch and how to open it and all that.”

Mr. Roly-Poly went silent. A few people shot murderous glares at that idiot.

“Yeah. That’s right. You’ve finally figured it out, huh? Took you long enough, fathead.” Themba hissed.

“HEY!! WHO’RE YOU CALLIN’ A FATHEA-”

A loud and piercing shriek reverberated through the stuffy basement air. And what made it worse was that the sound came from right above them.

In that split instant, everyone’s faces went as white as sheets.

Their worst fears had come true.

It was the aliens. The aliens were in the building. And judging from the added zest in the thumping sounds above, the aliens had probably heard them. Or rather, heard the voice of Mr. Stupid-Roly-Poly-Fathead-Loud-Mouth over there.

Themba’s mind raced. There was no other way out of here except for that metal door at the end of the staircase and the ceiling hatch. The hatch could be controlled from within the basement (Thank God), so if the aliens tried to open the hatch from above, someone from the basement could still close it again.

_But if the aliens use some kind of explosive to blow up the entire building…_

God. They were screwed. So damn screwed. And all because of some fat fathead who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

_Why in the name of Bast and Sekhmet did we ever let him join us…?_

This time, everyone _did_ go quiet, including Mr. Fathead. _Yeah. Too little too late, dumbass._ Themba stole a glance at Beth, who was looking back at him with such fearful and tearful eyes. And it was also right then that Themba realized a certain truth in that well-known cliché about how one’s life flashes before one’s eyes during the final moments prior to death. Because at that moment, Themba’s mind went to Adanna, and to his parents. He thought about not seeing their faces ever again. He thought about dying here, in this dirty basement, and alongside strangers who barely knew each other. He thought about leaving this world in vain, dying without ever contributing anything of significance to humanity. There were so many things that he had yet to do. But at that instant, everything was slipping away, like loose sand in his hand. Like the slipping sand in the almost-emptied hourglass of Themba Nkululeko’s life.

The basement’s ceiling was vibrating now. And Themba was pretty sure that he heard explosions too.

“Shit. Now they really know we’re here…congratulations, fathead. You just got all of us killed. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” Themba said weakly.

“Ho…How do you know? They haven’t opened the roof yet… ” said Mr. Fat Dimwit.

“They’re firing their guns up there, you moron. It means they know someone’s in the building.” Themba hissed. Beth let out a tearful whimper. And from the corner of his eyes, Themba saw a man sliding down against the wall, a wail of anguish was heard a second later.

Despair pervaded the room.

BOOM! The whole basement shook vigorously, which lasted for a few seconds. Themba knew his time was near. He just knew it. Was this it? Was he really going to die here, in vain? And because of some stupid moron’s mistakes? Would he really allow himself to go down without a fight?

BOOM! Streaks of fine dust fell from the ceiling.

“I have a wife and kids at home!! You motherfucker!!” A man yelled tearfully. And before Themba knew it, the angry man socked Mr. Roly-Poly in the eye. Mr. Roly-Poly tumbled to the ground and moaned. It was a little painful to think that a shiner on that moron’s face would be somewhat of an equivalent trade for all their lives. But even Themba had to admit that it felt good to watch that imbecile fall to the ground right then.

Another succession of high-pitched shrieks ensued, followed by more explosions. Themba wished he had a phone with him. At least that way, he could hear his family’s voices one last time. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize his little baby sister’s face. He could never see her again…no more little quizzes, or cute birthday surprises. No more puzzle-box rivalry. No more late night mathematical debates.

No more…

NO!

Damn it. NO!

He would not go down like this! Themba Nkululeko refused to go down like this! If he was to die, then it had better be for a damn good reason. And being in here acting like sitting ducks was definitely _not_ a good reason. He had to do something. He couldn’t lose hope now. Hell, even his own name, ‘Themba’, stood for ‘hope’ and ‘faith’. So he’d be damn sure that he was gonna live up to the name that his father had given him.

If he was gonna die, then so be it. But let it be a valiant death instead of a vain one. Let his life be taken for a good cause, such as for a cause of protecting all the women and children here.

“Alright, guys. Listen up.” Themba paused and stared at the ceiling, “I know you’re all scared. I’m scared too. Because there might be a good chance that we’re all going to die today, and probably in the next few minutes. But I want you guys to think about something. To _choose_. To choose the manner in which you die.” Themba paused again, pulling in a breath, “How do you want leave this world, people? As a helpless coward? Or as a warrior? Yes, we might die today. Yes, this might be the end for all of us. But if we were to die, then let it **_be_** for **_something_**. Let it be for a good reason.”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The room shook violently.

Limbs trembled. Teeth clattered. Larynges quivered. Tears trickled. 

Thus the seeds of fear germinated; with souls _shaken_ and resolves _splintering_ asunder. Every bit the augury of doom.

But among them, among the sprouts of fear, something else blossomed.

One.

One of the sprouts thrived.

Instead of withering away, it blossomed into a beautiful flower.

The flower of courage.   

Themba stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving the ceiling, “As for me, I don’t want to die here for no good reason at all. I want to fight for my life. No matter how slim the chances are. I want to fight. I want to give the kids a chance to walk out of here alive. And I know I can’t do this alone. So I’m asking you this. If you choose to stand with me and fight for our lives, then please stand up. If we do this together as a team, then there might still be some hope left.”

Themba stopped talking. The basement went quiet except for the sounds of explosions and falling dusts.

Then someone stood up. Themba turned. It was Beth. Themba smiled at her. Then Mr. Business Suit and Mr. Ripped Jeans stood up too. And then the two couples.

In a matter of seconds, everyone was up on their feet. Including Mr. Roly-Poly.

“So you’re all with me?” Themba asked firmly.

“Yeah. What do we do?” Beth asked.

Themba closed his eyes and thought hard.

Themba opened his eyes. He pointed at the box near the wall, “I need someone to standby beside that panel. If the aliens open the hatch, then we’ll need someone to hit the close button immediately.”

“I’m on it.” said Mr. Business Suit.

“I need a few men to help escort the kids out and take them somewhere safe. And then the rest of the men would have no other choice but to prepare for a fight. If you know how to fight, even better. But that doesn’t really matter anymore. The point is that we might need to force our way out if the aliens manage to keep that hatch open.” Themba said, “Now, men with no combat experience, each of you grab a kid and head to the staircase. We need to keep the children out of the line of fire. Stay there until we decide to evacuate the place. And the rest of the men without a kid to escort will have to fight and keep the aliens distracted while the kids get out.”

“As for women, you have a choice. You can choose to either follow the kids out, or to stay with the rest of the men and fight. It’s your choice. Alright move it. Kids to the staircase. Now.” Themba ordered.

For a moment, the crowd hustled. There wasn’t much debate and fuss apropos of the assignment of duties. Since the parents of the children had all volunteered to escort their own child to safety. Surprisingly though, none of the women decided to leave together with the children. All of them had decided to stay and fight.

“You’re staying?” Themba whispered to Beth.

“Yep.”

“You’ve got guts, woman.” Themba praised.

“Not all women are damsels in distress, you know.” Beth said.

“Now I didn’t say that.” Themba paused and smiled, “Just…don’t give up. No matter what happens.”

“Yea-”

All of a sudden, the entire floor went quiet. And eerily so. The explosions stopped. And the shaking stopped too. Even the thumping had ceased.

“Are they gone?” asked Mr. Business Suit.

“Alright guys. Be ready.” Themba said, eyes trained on the hatch, “And move to the side a little bit, stay away from the center. Don’t stand right under the hatch.”

Shuffling sounds were heard as everyone moved closer to the wall.

“I think they’re gone…” Beth said, “It can’t be this quiet.”

“Or maybe they’ve just figured out that there’s a hatch and are now trying to find the switch?” Themba guessed.

Beth glared. “Damn, you’re not even the slightest bit optimistic, are you?”

“Just being realistic.” Themba said without looking away from the hatch.

“Cap figured it out pretty quickly. But these things can’t be as smart as Cap, right?”

“I seriously hope not.” Themba whispered. And then he turned to the guy with the business suit, “You ready?”

Mr. Business Suit nodded and flipped open the panel’s box, his finger hovering on the red button.

And they all waited, in silence. Not even a breath could be heard, since everyone was undoubtedly holding their breath for what was about to come.

_Don’t find the switch. Don’t find the switch. Please don’t find the switch. Please let these aliens have the same IQ points as Mr. Fathead Roly-Poly._

You know what people always say about the first light of the day? Or about the blinding white lights at the end of a dark tunnel? They say that light is always a sigil for something pleasant; that it is a token of hope, of _salvation._ But in the case of Themba Nkululeko and the other thirty-plus people currently trapped in this basement, the first sign of light was anything but pleasant. Instead, it was a foretoken of surefire doom. It was the presage of death.

And thus the bright lights shone. The incandescence of death, creeping through the widening crevices of the ceiling. It was death's lambency. Deathlight. Approaching its victims at one hundred eighty six thousand miles per second. Death, at the speed of light. 

“Press it! Now!” Themba hissed.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

“Done…is it closing?” Mr. Business suit asked franticly.

All eyes stared at the ceiling, and at the crack of light which was still growing wider by the second.

No.

No, it wasn’t closing.  

Themba’s stomach flipped and churned. The button had malfunctioned. Or rather, the aliens must have cut the power source to the panel in the basement.  

“No! It’s not closing! Try again!” Beth yelled.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

“Look I’m trying! I’ve pressed it so many times already!”

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now. It was too late. Because they could already see legs. Dark, _reptilian_ legs.

“Get the kids out now!! Men who aren’t escorting kids, get out first and open up a safe path for the kids!!” Themba yelled.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

“I CAN’T OPEN THIS DOOR!!!” A man yelled.

_What…? No. No. NO!!!_

“You have to unlock it!!!” Themba shouted back.

“LOOK IT’S ALREADY UNLOCKED! I CAN EVEN TURN THE HANDLE. THERE’S JUST SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE THAT’S BLOCKING IT.”

Immediately, Themba understood what had happened.

The debris.

It must be the debris. The aliens were shooting the place down just now. And some heavy debris must have collapsed in front of the door, hence blocking its path.

“Then push it!! Kick it down!! Force it open!! Don’t give up!” Themba hollered.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

“I CAN’T!!!! Can’t open it…” The man’s voice was now despair-laden.

“Keep trying!!!”

The hatch on the ceiling opened completely. And right before their eyes, above them, behind the railing, stood three of the most hideous creatures they’d ever seen in their entire lives. Someone, a woman, whimpered. Others were in tears, crying and wailing. Men, women, and children alike. They were all crying: showering their impending doom with helpless tears.

The three reptile-like creatures looked at each other. And moments later, they began gurgling and whining in sharp, high-pitched voices. Almost as though they were talking to each other.

Maybe they were deciding whom to kill first?

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Someone at the staircase was still trying to force open the metal door.

And then with a sudden snap of their arms, all three aliens aimed their rifles down at them.

“Make sure the children stay in the staircase…” Themba said in a shaky voice, his own tears threatened to fall.

Everyone waited. Trepidation up to their throats. With trembling hands and sweaty foreheads, they waited. Waited for the shots to come.

The stalemate lasted for minutes. Yet not a single shot was fired. As if those foul creatures were deliberately prolonging the psychological torment of their soon-to-be victims: the anguish of waiting, and the helplessness in the anticipation of death. 

“They aren’t shooting.” Beth whispered in a tone of partial relief.

“Yeah. They’re not...” Themba sighed in equal relief.

But they soon discovered the reason for that. One of the aliens pulled something from behind its back, a metal box of some kind. It wasn’t until they saw the blinking blue lights on the box and heard the rhythmic beeping sound which emanated from it that they finally realized what the box was for. But that cognizance did nothing more than inject a feeling of apathy into each and every one of their souls: the apathy resulting from hopelessness, the apathy due to the acceptance of their respective demise. 

It was an explosive.

A device to blow all of them to pieces.

_It’s over…_

Themba closed his eyes.

“Guys…I’m sorry…I’m really sorry…I did all I could…” He said tiredly.

He heard no replies. No words of comfort. No nothing. And frankly, he no longer cared. It was all pointless now. So he closed his eyes and waited. Waited for what, he knew not. The sudden heat to the face? The burning sensation on the face? The evaporation of blood and flesh? How would it even feel like anyway?

Guess they were all about to find out soon.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Themba listened. Listened to the beeping, listened to the change in its rhythm; the acceleration of the beeps strangely concurrent with the fact that each and every one of them here were accelerating towards their own respective deaths.

Amongst the noise, camouflaged between beeps, was another sound; a gentle humming.

Themba knew that sound.

He knew that sound very well.

In fact, he'd known that sound his entire life!!

Vibranium!!!!

Themba’s eyes shot open then. A new hope kindled in his chest.

SMACK!!!!

And then Themba saw it. Red, white, and blue. Gloriously hurtling and tumbling through the air, and finally falling down towards the basement where they all stood.

It was the iconic shield.

Captain America’s shield!!

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! ZING! ZING! ZING! ZING! ZING!

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

THUD!

Everyone was watching now. They watched, as the Living Legend fought to save all their lives. But Themba knew that his job was far from finished. He knew there was still something else that he absolutely had to do. He sought, frantically.

_Where’s that shield? Where is it? Where?_

He found it. In the hands of Mr. Roly-Poly.

“Hey, fathead!!!!” Themba shouted, “Throw the shield back up!!! He’ll need it!!”

Mr. Roly-Poly only stared back at him blankly, with that stupid-fathead face of his.

“COME ON!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR??!!” Themba flung out his right hand and pointed at the railing, “THROW IT!!”

Still, Mr. Roly-Poly made no moves. His face betrayed blatant ignorance and stupidity.

 _Oh Goddamn it. Is there really a person_ **THIS** _retarded on this God forsaken rock?_

Without ado, Themba rushed forward.

“Give it to me, you fucking dumbass!!!” Themba growled, and pried the shield out of Mr. Dumbass’ fat hands.

Thankfully, Mr. Retarded Fathead was, apparently, smart enough to not resist (or he could just be too retarded to even realize that Themba was about to take the shield away).

Thus, with the shield in hand, Themba pushed his way forward. He had to move. He had to move to a place where he could be closest to the railing. Seconds later, he was standing right under the bottom edge of the railing. And then finally, ignoring the protests of his broken ribs, Themba flung the shield upwards as high as he could. Moments later, Themba watched with satisfaction as the shield flew over the railing’s edge and landed on the ground floor in a dull thud. His duty was done.

Maybe not quite.

Themba ducked just in time as a dead alien’s body tumbled over the railing and dropped down to the basement.

“Everyone!! Clear out!!!” The Captain’s voice rang out.

ZING! ZING! Two more alien beams were fired.

And they heard the Captain’s grunt.

_Clear out?? What?_

Oh. _Oh._

Shit. The bomb was still there. Was it? Themba strained his ears, trying to discern the beep.

He heard the beeps.

_Crap._

“Everyone!!!! Get down!!!!!” Themba yelled, and dove to the ground.

BOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!

Everything exploded in a flash of blue. A wave of heat flew past his back.

And then it was all over.

 

*     *     *

 

**Friday, 4:30PM, 4 th May 2012, (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: 107 East 42 nd Street, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America**

**Locale: Outside a MAC Cosmetics Store near Grand Central Terminal**

Steve made it down East 42nd with feverish haste. “Barton, do you have eyes on Loki?”

 _[I blew him off to Stark tower just now.]_ Agent Barton replied.

_Wait…Stark tower, isn’t that where Agent Romanoff is at?_

“No, no, NO!!! That’s not good! Agent Romanoff’s up there!!!”

 _[Cap..._ **relax** _…Loki’s down. The Hulk went up there and beat the crap out of him.]_

Steve sighed, relief coursed through his veins. Dang, he _really_ gotta stop feeling like he was gonna lose his shit every time that dame runs into trouble; they barely _knew_ each other, for Christ’s sake. Steve took a deep, get-one’s-shit-together breath.

“The portal showing signs of slowing yet?” asked Steve in a steadier voice.

 _[That’s a negative. If anything, these things seem to be flying in even faster than before. There’re too many of them on the other side…]_ Agent Barton said grimly.

“Find an escape route, Barton. You won't be safe up there for long.”

_[I can just swing down to the windows below.]_

“Good. And I need a location on Thor.” Steve said, hoping that maybe they could get the Asgardian to unleash the bolts of death once again. Thor was the only one with the ability to effectively slow the enemy down.

_[He’s near you actually. To the right of Grand Central. Taking on a huge squadron.]_

“Copy that. Watch yourself, Barton.”

Steve tore past the Grand Central Terminal’s fallen clock tower, leaping over the squamous tail of a dead Leviathan creature. The creature had crashed into the building due to the combined assault of the Hulk and Thor just moments before Steve left for the bank past Madison. And the end of the viaduct, Steve took a quick left and found The God of Thunder pounding the living innards out of a Chitauri soldier.  

“Thor!!!! Behind you!!” Steve called out before launching his shield towards a _battalion_ of Chitauri soldiers who were about to ambush the Asgardian from behind.

The shield made a series of swift ricochets and broke the necks of at least seven of them. But there were still about two dozen left standing, whose attentions were now drawn towards the supersoldier.

_Shit!!_

A fusillade of energy beams hailed down upon Steve. Stripped of his shield, Steve had no choice but to duck behind a concrete pillar for cover.

“Stand back, Captain!” Thor bellowed.

From behind the pillar, Steve peeked, and saw the Asgardian swinging the mighty Mjolnir in a wide circle above his head, thus generating a mini tornado in the region. Moments later, Thor shot up into the sky. And so did the two dozen Chitauri soldiers.

A string of Chitaurian shrieks sounded, followed by a series of smashes and thunks. The tornado subsided about a minute later, with pieces of dismembered Chitaurian body parts dropping from the sky.

Steve abandoned his position behind the pillar and went to pick up his shield.

Steve jogged over to the Asgardian, “Thor.” He greeted.

Thor nodded, “Captain. What tidings do you bear?”

“Loki’s down for now. And Agent Romanoff's working on closing the portal as we speak.” Steve said.

“Can the lady close it?” asked Thor, his expression hopeful.  

“She’s working on it.” Steve sighed, “But meanwhile, things aren’t exactly slowing up there.” Steve nodded towards the portal, “I don’t think we can keep the civilians safe for much longer.”

“Nay.” Thor said, shaking his head.

“And Agent Barton said that these things seem to be coming in even faster than before." Steve glanced at the sky, "Whatever that’s sitting on the other side has to be dad-blamed huge for it to produce troops endlessly for over two hours." Steve sighed and shook his head, "One thousand battalions at the very _least_.”

“It is as I feared, Captain. The Chitauri has a mothership at the other end.” Thor explained.

“A mothership?” Steve asked incredulously.

“Aye.” Thor nodded grimly.

“How big?” Steve asked, half-dreading the answer he might obtain.

“If Asgardian legends speak true, then it should be big enough to carry within it thousands of Chitauri forces along with hundreds of Leviathans.”

Steve’s jaw went slack. _Hundreds?_ Of Leviathans? They could barely hold back _one_ of those things.

“Captain,” Thor levelled Steve with a look of utter distraught, “if we do not close that portal within the next hour, Midgard is sure to fall.” said Thor darkly.

Steve sighed. Yes. He knew how bad the situation was. But as team Captain, he needed to keep the morale up. It was his job to instill hope in his teammates’ hearts, to get all their spirits up.   

“We need to put our trust in Romanoff for now. She’ll figure out what to do with the portal.” Steve glanced back up to the sky, “In the meantime, we have to slow these things down, buy her some time. I was hoping you could bring out the lighting again.” Steve looked at Thor hopefully.

Thor shook his head, “Nay. I’m afraid I cannot, Captain. For I have summoned up all of Mjolnir’s reserves in that first bout…it would require some time ere I’m able to summon lightning again.” Thor said apologetically.

_Even our biggest gun has reached his limit…_

From the corner of his eyes, Steve detected movement.

“Thor…” Steve said, “We’ve got company…”

Steve gave their surroundings a quick 360. “A **_lot_** _,_ of company.” Steve said.

Thor lifted his arm. Seconds later, a deep hum sounded, and Mjolnir flew to his hand.

Steve glanced at the Asgardian, “Tornado?”

Thor nodded.

“You take out as many as you can with the tornado!” Steve said as he took off running, “I’ll take care of the strays!!”

Ten Chitauri soldiers opened fire at Steve from the front. Steve ducked behind his shield, covering only those shots which came from the front, since Thor had already gotten his six covered.

Charging forward, Steve spotted a concrete block lying a couple of feet away, and with a powerful kick, he sent the brick flying. The concrete connected and crushed the head of a Chitauri soldier who was standing in front of a wall.

Spotting another foe beside a car, Steve dove forward and rammed his shield into the alien’s head.

The Chitauri’s head smashed through the car window, and it ended up with the back of its neck pressed down against the door’s weather strip channel. With a jostle of Steve’s arms, the shield sunk downwards in a motion parallel to the door, causing its edge to slice through the alien’s throat. The beheaded body fell to the ground while the loose head rolled into the car’s backseat.

Steve jumped onto the car’s roof, and somersaulted into the air. He landed behind the ranks of the attacking Chitauri army, causing the soldiers to turn around and resume their ineffectual assault against him.

There were eight of them left.

 _Throw these bastards into the tornado._ Steve thought. He barged forward and delivered a powerful push-kick to one of the Chitauri’s chest. The alien flew off the ground, and in a matter of seconds, it spiraled and hurtled straight into the center of the tornado. The rest of the aliens tried to distance themselves from the whirling vortex, but Steve didn’t let them. One by one, these quasi-reptilian creatures were tossed into the tornado by the American supersoldier.

Once he had cleaned up the strays, Steve ran for cover, back to that pillar from before. Leaning his back against the concrete, Steve watched as Thor took care of about a hundred foes within the tornado.

 _[Shit! Cap, the Hulk’s down!]_ Agent Barton reported.

Steve froze.

“Where?”

_[On a rooftop somewhere. He got cornered by a lot of strays, and they all opened fire on him at once.]_

“Has he shrunk down yet?” Steve asked, glancing towards the tornado.

_[Negative. Still green.]_

For a moment, Steve thought in silence. He glanced up towards the building where Agent Barton stood.

“Watch him. If he shrinks and these things find him, he’ll be in trou-”

_Damn!_

“Barton! Get outta there, now! There’re two hostile groups circling around your block. They’re heading towards you!” Steve ordered.

_[Copy that.]_

Feeling the tornado petering out, Steve ran back out into the open. Seconds later, Thor crash-landed somewhere behind him.

 _We’re seriously losing steam._ Steve thought as he walked towards the Asgardian who was kneeling on the ground, panting. Steve offered his hand and pulled Thor up onto his feet.

“So I guess that’s a no on the lightning then.” Steve said dryly.

Thor shook his head as he stood himself up on shaky feet.

 _[Cap, I’m inside the building. Do you still need eyes up top?]_ Came Agent Barton’s voice.

“Get onto Stark Tower. Work with Agent Romanoff, see if you can close the portal a little bit faster.” Steve said into the comms.

CRASH!!!

Another wave of aliens landed about three hundred feet away.

_Oh for the love of God, give me a break!_

“You ready?” Steve said, glancing around the terrain as he analyzed the enemy’s battle formation.   

“Aye.” Mjolnir flew into Thor’s right hand once again.

_About seventy units. Each doubly armed with one rifle and one sub-machine gun._

“Shall I call upon the winds?” Thor asked.

“No, Thor. We might need your strength for later. We’ll take out this wave using tactics.” Steve said, readying his shield.

“By all means, Captain.”

Steve moved into a low crouch, the wellsprings of a battle plan already taking shape in his sharp mind. 

“Can you control the hammer’s direction as it flies?” Steve asked.

“Aye.”

“Good. Coz I might have a plan.” Steve said.

“Make haste, Captain. For they are approaching! And in vast numbers they come!”

“In a moment, Thor. In a moment…” Steve’s eyes glided over their foes who were now about two hundred feet away, his mind registering all details of the enemy’s positioning in order to map out the best trajectory for Mjolnir to take.

_Fundamental principle of self-defense. Utilize anything in your surroundings for your defense and counterattack…_

“Alright, Thor. See that blue car?”

There was an awkward pause. And Thor shifted beside him. “My apologies. But I do not yet know of this Midgardian creature named ‘car’.” Thor said, his tone mildly confused.

“It’s a…um, uh, it’s that piece of blue metal over there.” Steve said and pointed his finger at the car.

“Aye. I see it.”

“Right, so you let your hammer fly to that car, and if like it’s you said that you can control the hammer’s direction as it flies, then in theory, as long as the hammer is pushing at the car, then you can control the car too, right?” Steve explained.

And in an instant, Thor’s face beamed in delight. Hell, Steve could’ve sworn that right then, the Asgardian’s face was brighter than a thousand suns.

“Hah!!!!! Great Odin’s Raven!! I must indeed congratulate you, Captain!! For you have contrived an exceptionally cunning artifice!!!” said Thor exuberantly.

Despite the perilous situation they were in, Steve managed a tiny smile.

“Make sure you take out as many as you can with the car. That way we can reduce their numbers when they close in on us. And don’t worry about it if they start shooting, I’ll cover for both of us with my shield. You just focus on driving that hammer around.” Steve explained.

“Aye!!! By the power of the mighty Mjolnir, I shall send these foul creatures back into the abyss!!” Thor roared, and smashed the hammer on the ground beneath them, inducing a mini-quake which lasted for three seconds.

ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! The Chitauri opened fire at the two Avengers, but only to have their shots thwarted by pure vibranium.

“Whenever you’re ready, big guy.” Steve said.

With another roar, Thor propelled Mjolnir.

CRASH!!!!!!!!

A moment later, the blue car began plowing its way through the Chitauri ranks. And in just the matter of seconds, they’ve cleared out about one-third of the enemy.  

 _Nice job, Thor._ Steve thought as he busied himself with shielding them both from incoming enemy fire.

The car tumbled and spun around the terrain, sweeping through the enemy ranks, clearing out foes as if they were bowling pins.

Eventually, even the car became the worse for wear and was beginning to lose its effectiveness.

“They are closing ranks!” Thor said as the remaining foes began charging towards the two Avengers, firing their guns at the same time.

From behind his shield, Steve counted about twenty foes left.

“You up for a good brawl?” Steve asked.

“Aye! And a most glorious battle it shall be!!!! A battle worthy of remembrance!!!” Thor shouted as he pummeled Mjolnir onto the ground a second time, creating a shockwave which took out the three foes nearest to them.

All of a sudden, an idea struck Steve.

“Thor!” Steve raised his shield and angled its surface towards a large group of foes. The God of Thunder, with his vast combat intuition, caught on to the idea almost instantly.

“It is truly an honor to fight alongside you, Captain!!! For your cunning schemes will vanquish even the mightiest of foes!!!” Thor said before he walloped Steve’s shield as hard as he could with Mjolnir.

The resulting shockwave was so powerful that not only did it clear out a good half of the remaining enemies, but it’d also overturned the vehicles along its path and shattered the windows of all surrounding buildings.

“Nice hit!!” Steve swung his shield in a high arc, slamming its edge into the alien on his right. And then with calculated precision, Steve flung his shield towards another foe.

Like a well-aimed boomerang, the shield ricocheted off concrete and flew back into his hands. Catching the shield, Steve pivoted anti-clockwise and took down another foe with a superhuman swipe.

ZING!!

“Ughh!!!!” Pain tore through his left side as Steve fell to the ground.

_Ouch._

Fighting through the pain, Steve pushed himself back up and reached for his shield once again.

 _Shit._ Steve detected five barrels aimed at him. But before he could even blink, Thor was there, deflecting all the energy beams fired at him. Steve sighed in relief and slowly moved into a crouch. A loud crash sounded as Thor batted a car with Mjolnir. The car tumbled, squashing all the aliens who were shooting at Steve before. Thor turned around, and flung Mjolnir towards the last foe, killing it instantly.

 _Damn. I **really** need an upgrade in my combat arsenal. _Steve thought as he felt Thor pulling him up through the arm.

“Are you ready for another bout?” Thor asked.

“What, you getting sleepy?” Steve quipped.

Thor smiled and summoned Mjolnir once again.

 _[I can close it…Can anybody copy? I can shut the portal down!]_ Came Agent Romanoff’s breathless voice.

“Do it!!!” Steve yelled.

 _[No, wait.]_ Stark said.

“Stark, these things are still coming!” shouted Steve.

 _[I got a nuke coming in. It’s gonna blow in less than a minute.]_ Stark said.

Just like that, all the blood left Steve’s countenance. And he shot a helpless glance at Thor.

Agent Romanoff yelled over the comms. _[A nuke??! Are you fucking_ **kidding** _me?!!! What kind of a dumbass idea is it to fire a fucking nuke_ **at** _the city?!! Shouldn’t they shoot it_ **through** _the portal instead?!]_

Agent Romanoff’s voice rang in his ear, a beautiful and melodious echo. 

Steve felt weak at his knees. This was it. This was the end. This whole fight, and everything they’d done so far; protecting the civilians, killing aliens, they were all for **_nothing_** _._

A nuke. A _NUKE!_

Steve’s vision blurred.

 _[How much are you willing to bet, Nat, that this is all the fucking Council’s doing.]_ Agent Barton said bitterly.

Steve’s knees hit the ground.

And immediately, the Asgardian was beside him. “Captain, what ill news do you bear?” Thor asked in a tone of concern.

Steve took a deep breath of disbelief.

“Someone unleashed a powerful weapon. It’s going to blow in just under a minute. And if it does, the entire city would be wiped out…” Steve explained dejectedly.

The Asgardian sprang up.  

“Destroying the city!!!” Thor roared, and began a series of pacings worthy of the halls of Asgard, “WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?! AND WHAT OF THE PEOPLE DOWN HITHER??! WHAT WOULD BECOME OF THEM??!”

Steve’s shoulders drooped as he felt every single ounce of his willpower dissipate from his soul.

“They probably think that they need to hold the Chitauri here before more comes through the portal…” Steve said weakly.

“By Odin’s beard, IT IS **_FOLLY_**!!! Should the city be slaughtered, this entire battle would have been for naught!!!” Thor roared, throwing his arms into the air.

Steve shook his head tiredly, “Someone from SHIELD’s higher-ups must have given the order.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, “Thor, we might need you to fly the people out of here…the…the children…and the women also….maybe put them in a bus and… **UGGHH**!!!! I don’t know!!!! Damn it!!! I don’t know anymore!!” Steve punched through a car’s rear door, “There isn’t even a minute left! Not even one minute left! Goddammit! Just what the hell are we supposed to do?!”

Thor moved in closer and gripped Steve’s shoulder.

“These people are all going to die. Everyone in Manhattan’s gonna die…” Steve said shakily.

Stark’s voice suddenly came through.

_[Uhh…guys, you’re kinda forgetting something here……You have a genius on the team, remember? ]_

Agent Barton retorted,  _[Yeah? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Stark, but if you've got something for us then do it now. We don't have much time left.]_

"H-how long?" Steve asked shakily. 

 _[Judging from its speed, I'd say about less than 30 seconds...]_ Agent Barton reported in a grave tone. 

"Where are you?" Steve inquired.

Agent Barton replied,  _[Stark tower. The bird's coming right at me.]_

 _[And I know_ **just** _where to put it.]_ Stark interjected.

For a moment, there was a brief lull. A soothing calm, which was immediately followed by a paroxysm of disquiet.

The penny dropped.

_Wait a minute…? Is he gonna…?_

Steve sprang onto his feet. 

“Stark..." Steve warned, "...you know that’s a one way trip.”

_[You heard that, J? Save the rest for the turn.]_

Steve dropped his gaze onto the ground and released a frustrated sigh.

“This weapon. Is there no other way it can be stopped?” Thor demanded fretfully once he’d finally stopped pacing.  

“Iron Man plans to fly it through the portal…he wants to use it to destroy the Chitauri’s mothership…” Steve said gravely.

“But if the mothership is too close to the portal, what then? Midgard would not escape the blast.” Thor said in concern.

“Romanoff…Romanoff had figured out a way to close the portal. And if she closes it before the radiation hits…then maybe…” Steve shook his head.

“Lo! Here it comes!!” shouted Thor.

Seconds later, a high-pitched whine thundered from further down Park Avenue. And as the missile got close enough for Steve to make out its pointy head, he thought: the world really hadn’t changed at all; after all this time, humanity still craved mass-destruction.

Seventy years ago, Steve made the ultimate sacrifice, thinking that his death would bring about freedom. Thinking that an era of peace and kindness would prevail after his death, or that his death would mark the end of warfare among humanity. But seventy years later, Steve woke up only to discover that things were still the same: there were still people in the world who would flick that switch of death without so much of a bat of an eye, people who had no compunctions about sacrificing millions of innocent lives for their self-proclaimed _‘greater good’._ How was that any different from what HYDRA had done in the past? Except for more powerful weaponry, and more sophisticated technology, how were things today any different from those of seventy years ago?

Now shouldered upon Iron Man’s metallic dorsum, the bird of doom zoomed past their heads, swiftly gaining altitude as it approached Stark Tower.

And at that juncture, Steve knew more than ever, that he had been utterly wrong in his assessment of Tony Stark’s character:

Tony Stark wasn’t just a man who fought for himself.

Tony Stark was a hero. 

 

* * *

 

_(End of part 2)_

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. There's part 2 of "Heroes and Victims"
> 
> Like I said, "Heroes and Victims" is about laying out Adannaverse (the Universe in which the events of TBS take place). So you will see me trying to fit together my own characters (their lives and their backstories ) together with the MCU's timeline. The dates and times are all accurate. I've actually went along and researched every thing (the exact dates of the MCU events and so on). I've put in a lot of effort in writing "Heroes and Victims". I hope from the bottom of my heart that my hard work pays off, and that you all find my version of MCU's events enjoyable and believable. 
> 
> This part centers on the events of New York. I really hope you guys liked how I tie together the lives of Adanna and Themba with the Avengers. This might come off as a little weird, but I feel...'powerful', when I see myself weave together the lives of my own characters and each Avenger. I like that feeling, I like fabricating the events in which these characters cross each others' paths, and in such a way that everything is still in accordance with canon universe. I confess, I do consider my own idea of having Themba (Adanna's older brother) studying at New York City during the time of the Chitauri invasion as absolutely brilliant. But I'd like to know what you guys think too? What do you think about the idea that I have expounded in this chapter? 
> 
> Writing scenes about the Battle of New York was quite hard. I had to do a lot of research to make myself _be there_. And by that I meant a lot of google maps and google street views (I SHIT YOU NOT). Indeed, there are a lot of other aspects about my account of the Battle of New York which I'm quite happy about. Such as the bank scene, whereby Themba was among those people who were rescued by Cap at the bank. Yeah. I am so proud of this idea, I must say. I would love to know what y'all think, though. 
> 
> And then I've also taken the liberty to resolve some of the plot holes in the 2012 movie, "The Avengers", too. Remember that bank scene? When Cap jumped in through the bank's window and then threw his shield at one of the Chitauri? Yeah? If you look closely at the movie, it shows that the shield had actually FALLEN OFF THE RAILING down towards the space below. But then, later on, Cap just seemed to just 'pick it up' somewhere on the ground upstairs where he was fighting the aliens. That's just nonsense, and it's been bugging the hell out of me since 2012. But now, I've resolved it in "Heroes and Victims", by having Themba Nkululeko himself throwing the shield back up from below! I am proud of this too. What do you guys think? Let me know. 
> 
> I hope you guys also enjoyed the interactions between Steve and Nat in this chapter. It had always been my wish to explore Steve and Natasha's relationship **before** but, **WITH THE HINDSIGHT** , of CATWS. I think it's pretty fun to write about Steve and Nat watching each others back and feeling drawn to each other even before they got close.
> 
> Imi Lichtenfeld is a real life figure (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imi_Lichtenfeld). He is a master of hand-to-hand combat and the founder of the Krav Maga Fighting system. He's one of the great fighters out there that I really look up to. Others are Bruce Lee, and Miyamoto Musashi. The inclusion of Imi in the storyline came naturally to me. Because Imi was around during the time of World War 2, and so was Steve. So I thought to myself: why the heck not? So yeah, in my mind, Imi and Steve crossed paths when Steve was going around destroying HYDRA bases. And then Imi taught Steve how to fight and turned him into the badass that he is today. 
> 
> Did you guys like it? What do you think of my version of The Battle of New York? What do you think of Themba's character? Let me know in the comments below. 
> 
> Until next time.  
> Ciao.


	24. Heroes and Victims (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Jeanne: Happy Birthday. 
> 
> To Ella: Hope that this satisfies your curiosity. 
> 
> Here's the third part of the 'Heroes and Victims' saga. Enjoy.

**VICTORY**

 

**Saturday, 1:30AM, 5 th May 2012, (Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: Lot 26, Wakandan Residential Area, Zone G, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

Adanna roused from her slumber. Her eyelids rose, slowly, in a desperate yet futile attempt to allow her pupils to savor even the faintest speck of light available. But it proved an impossible task, as they were leaden and knackered. Too spent to support even the weight of her eye lashes.

Blackness soon engulfed the remaining strip of light in her vision. It was as if she had gone blind.

Her head felt agonizingly heavy too, as if her brain had somehow intumesced into an object twice its size. And the pounding she felt in her temples certainly didn't help matters. Neither was the fact that she couldn't feel her limbs, as if her head had suddenly been detached from her body, or as if her entire existence had been reduced to just a clump of brain matter suspended in big jar of cerebrospinal fluid, a creature without a body. It then occurred to her that she might have been abducted by aliens, and was currently having her brain dissected by little green, crawly creatures. A plausible hypothesis, albeit not at all agreeable to Occam's Razor. After all, it _could_ just be due to a simple headache.

She wondered what really happened.

She couldn't quite place it, despite her eidetic memory.

Somehow, this felt very much like fainting in front of that clinic all over again - bygones of yesteryear. Or maybe she had discovered the secrets of time travel and had successfully gone back to that time. Had she finally achieved the impossible by creating a working time machine? After all, that  _w_ _ould_ explain the similarities between what she was feeling now and what she felt back then. But as much as she would like to continue with the long string of wild speculations, she could now hear Occam's Razor whispering in her ear, chastising her, and threatening her with a plethora of ways to make her forever bald.

Fine. A headache it is, then. No more wild theories.  

Voices broke through her haze.

Familiar voices.

Echoing voices: a reverberating clangor amidst a sea of uncertainty and confusion, like the sound of a thousand church bells going off in her ears. 

“Are you sure there's nothing wrong with her? She’s been out for almost an hour…” said the first voice.

She knew that voice. 

_Mama._

“Don’t worry, Madam. She just went into shock that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about.”

This man’s voice…It sounded so familiar. Who was he?

“You don’t look so good, honey. Do you want to take today off? I won’t be opening the shop for the next few days..." said a third voice, "I was thinking maybe we can spend some time together and get things prepared.”

She recognized that voice too. It was her father.

But get what prepared?

What were they talking about?

“Yeah…okay…I’ll just…I’ll call in sick, then.” 

Why did Mama sound so weary? Why did she sound so sad?

Did something bad happen?

And why couldn’t she bring herself to open her eyes and wake up? Why was there this nagging feeling at the back her head, as if there was something that she was supposed to be remembering? Why did she feel so hazy?

Why?

As she lay there inertly, she tried to puzzle through the avalanche of confusion. Thousands of thought streams barraged her mind. Endless questions, begging to be answered. She couldn’t remember anything yet, but she did come up with a few deductions based the conversation she'd heard: she must have blacked out at some point.

Oh, no, did she step into a hospital by mistake again?

Or did she fall down, and hit her head really, really hard? Admittedly, that didn’t sound very likely, but it might explain all the haze she was feeling. Wait, she wouldn’t get dumber after hitting her head like that, would she? Uh-oh…she’d absolutely, and unequivocally, **_hate_** _,_ the idea of turning dumb. She’d rather be dead than stay alive as an asinine schmuck who could no longer multiply ten-digit integers together in her head. Not that people who couldn’t multiply ten-digit integers in their heads were all dumb schmucks. She just liked her ability to calculate things really fast. _If_ she still had it.

_Wait. What if I try working the math now?_

Might as well. She couldn’t open her eyes anyway. 

_Let’s see…_

_Hmmm….fifteen thousand, four hundred sixty-seven? Times?_

_Times what?_

Great, now she'd have to come up with another number. For a moment, she entertained the silly thought that perhaps finding another number to multiply the previous number with was a task infinitely more daunting that the actual arithmetic itself.

Then again, maybe she **_did_** get dumber.

_Argh! Why do you even need to come up with another number? Just multiply the number by itself, dummy! Compute fifteen thousand, four hundred sixty-seven squared!_

Right.

Things certainly did not look too good for her smarts at the moment.

_Fifteen thousand, four hundred sixty-seven squared is……_

_Two hundred thirty-nine million, two hundred twenty-eight thousand, eighty-nine!!!!_

Good.

Seemed she hadn’t lost her mojo.

Her smarts still had its smarts.  

Phew.

Thank the Laws of Physics.

But still. How did she end up conking in the first place?  

Did she overwork herself again?

Not an entirely remote possibility, considering the number of ‘bald patches’ she now sported on her scalp owing to her inability to successfully debug her latest programming project. Okay, it _might_ have been a bit of an exaggeration, the hair-pulling part? But she swore, over the years she'd had numerous nightmares which featured herself turning completely bald. Not that being bald was a bad thing. But she would definitely prefer having all her hair intact by the time she reach adolescence, even if they turn out to be Einstein-hair. Maybe she should spend some time developing the mathematics of hair geometry. Generalized helicoids! Or... the mathematical equations of hair-preservation. Bet that’d be pretty cool. Could even incorporate those ideas into Michelangelo’s hair modelling algorithms too! Pfft. Yeah, yeah, yeah. All big talks. Right now, she couldn’t even get Michelangelo's main algorithms to function properly.

Funny, because she vaguely remembered Themba motivating her to not ever give up on resolving the nitty-gritty issues plaguing Michelangelo. Oh, wait, wait. It might be coming back now. Aha. Right. She remembered going through a rather frustrating week, one full of dead ends and crumpled A4 papers but with zero progress. No matter where she looked, she just couldn’t ferret out the source of the two remaining bugs which hindered the completion of her software. But somewhere in her memory, Adanna remembered how helpful Themba had been in pepping her up.

Oh! Themba had told her a nice little story over Skype. Something about keeping both eyes on the journey. And then…

And then…

Everything came back to her.

Everything.

The explosion. The blackness of the screen. The last words. The horror. The screams. The sound of unearthly shrieks.

And then……the TV.

TV. She and her parents had been lounging in the living room, huddled up in front of the TV to watch a live broadcast covering some kind of extraterrestrial invasion in New York City before she conked. Yes, New York City, which ( _conveniently_ ) was also the city where Themba had left Wakanda for in order to pursue his studies in astrophysics.

Adanna couldn’t remember much of what she’d seen or heard from the news. Mostly because she had been too busy crying her eyes out instead of paying attention to anything shown on screen. But thanks to her eidetic memory, she did, however, have some recollection of the final moments before she blacked out. It was something the lady in the TV, the news anchor, had said:

 _“The streets of New York City have become a battleground. The Army is here, trying to contain the violence. But **clearly** , it is outmatched. And I have to say, in all my years of reporting, I have never seen **anything** like this; I mean, just look around me!! A blue beam shooting out from the top of Stark Tower? A gigantic hole hanging in mid-sky? And what about the hundreds of hostile extraterrestrial creatures careening down our streets, massacring anyone or anything in their path? And to such an extent that even the United States military forces were completely **overpowered**? Believe me, throughout my entire career, I have seen _**more** _than a lot of things. But even with my vast reporting experience, I have to confess that today’s turn of events is still nothing but_ SHOCKING _to me_. _Just thirty minutes ago, we have the spokespersons of the U.S. Army’s Lieutenant General, General Thaddeus Ross, delivering **assurances** that the U.S. Army will do everything in its power to mitigate this apparent extraterrestrial hostile takeover. And at the same time, the NYPD, through an earlier statement from New York City’s Police Commissioner, had also vouched to extend their full support to the Army in any way they possibly can. True to their words indeed, even now as I speak, we can still see soldiers and military tanks roaming over the streets of New York, doing everything in their power to keep the enemy forces at bay. We also have a joint barricade set up by the NYPD and the Army which extends all the way down 39 th street. It is _**beyond** _words, the dedication and sacrifice that our soldiers and police officers have shown us today. Truly, every single one of us here_ **owe it** _to these brave men and women out there who are battling the enemy to their last breath. But still, the question remains: how long can they last?”_

 _“…Multiple witnesses have also claimed that an elite task force comprising of six individuals was deployed to fight alongside the U.S. Army. It is impossible at this point to verify the truth of such claims since we do not yet have footage evidence showing these individuals in action. What we do have, however, is a series of consistent and well-corroborated witness testimonies which all seems to substantiate those claims. For instance, over hundreds of people we have interviewed in the past hour_ **claimed** _that they had seen, I quote, ‘a real-world Robin Hood’ shooting off arrows from the top of a building. We even have_ **police** **officers** _who would readily_ **swear** _on their badges that they had encountered,_ **and** _received orders from, a man who appeared to be wielding a prototype of Captain America’s shield! And there’re even more extraordinary claims made by virtually everyone we have interviewed! Such as that a giant, green rage monster was spotted tearing down an enemy airship somewhere in 5 th Avenue! The U.S. Army has repeatedly denied any affiliations whatsoever with such a task force, claiming that the Army had nothing to do with its deployment. Sources from the Intelligence community, on the other hand, have revealed that those six individuals were none other than the members of a recently abolished SHIELD-funded project known as The Avengers Initiative. It was further hinted that the idea behind The Avengers Initiative was to bring together a group of people with special abilities in order to mitigate large-scale threats to world security. But when questions were asked regarding the identities of these individuals, members of the Intelligence communities had blatantly refused to present any further comments on the subject. Unfortunately, at this point, we have no further information on the team, but we do know that billionaire Tony Stark’s Iron Man is among the list of members for the Avengers Initiative.”_

 _“…What?_ **OH. MY. GOD.** _How can they….? Has it been confirmed? Oh…My God. I can_ **not** _believe this… Someone please tell me that this isn’t true…please.”_ The news anchor had, by then, broken off into a series of sobs, _“Word…word has…word has reached us that there is a nuclear warhead heading straight towards Midtown Manhattan as we speak…the detonation …”_ The lady on TV paused as she released another sob, _“it has been confirmed that the detonation would wipe out the entire Manhattan region. It is inconceivable!!_ **Inconceivable** _, how utterly inhumane the decision is!! We are talking about the deaths of more than 1.6_ **million** _people all over Manhattan. And just because of what? The inadequacy of our military forces? And even more preposterous was the fact that no prior attempts were made to evacuate the city before the missile was launched! None!! It is clear at this point what the people of Manhattan are to those who had ordered the strike. SACRIFICIAL_ _LAMBS, people. That’s what we all are. Sacrificial lambs!!”_

_“…The persons responsible for the launch remain unknown but the Army has vehemently denied making any attempts whatsoever at launching a nuclear strike against the civilian population. Whoever that’s responsible for ordering the nuclear strike, it isn’t the Army…hold on, it seems that we’ve just received a live footage showing the missile’s flight, it now appears to be travelling through the upper bay…and headed straight towards the heart of Manhattan…oh my God… guys… this is really the end… Jesus Christ… Jesus…this is the end…”_

_“Kelly? Sweetie? Listen to me, Kelly…”_ Another anguished sob, _“Mommy loves you so much, sweetie. But I have to say goodbye now."_  Another sob, " _I_ _love you, sweetie. Goodbye. And please be good for your daddy, okay? Richard? Richard, please… Please take care of Kelly for me. I love you. Goodbye…”_

Adanna could remember no more beyond that point. Only the feeling of her eyes rolling upwards, and her knees going weak as they buckled. She had been unconscious even before her head hit the floor.

Adanna stirred.

_Please just let all this be a dream…Please._

“She’s waking…” Her Mama whispered.

Slowly, Adanna opened her eyes. She was back in her bedroom now, lying on her own bed. Uncle Rafael was there too. _No wonder that man’s voice sounded so familiar._ Three pairs of worried eyes now stared back at her. She blinked and lifted her finger to rub her eyes.

She flinched.

_Oww…_

It stung. The skin under her eyes stung upon touch. She’d been crying. With a quick glance, she discerned her Mama’s own puffy eyes. And it was then that reality came crashing down onto her weary soul. This was no dream. She’d really just lost her brother.

Adanna began sobbing again. “Mama…Baba…” She croaked.

Immediately, her Mama crawled in beside her whereas her Baba sat himself at the foot of the bed.

“Shh…It’s okay, Ada.” Her Mama soothed.

“That’s right, munchkin. Your brother is safe. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Her Baba said with a smile.

She sniffled, once. And twice.

_Wait…What???!_

Adanna sprang up.

“Bu- But…the…the….the missile……!”

Adanna felt her Mama rubbing soothing circles on her back now. But the young girl was far from soothed. Not until she’d gotten some answers.

“Iron Man.” Her Baba said in a tone of grief.

“Mr. Stark?” Adanna asked, her brows scrunched up in confusion.

Her Baba nodded, “He carried the missile away from the city and through the portal…” Baba’s head shook in amazement, “we saw the whole thing, _live_ , on TV.”

Adanna’s eyelids drooped involuntarily as a colossal wave of relief crashed through her. Her body sagged against her Mama’s. The missile was gone. There was no nuclear detonation.

From the corner of her eyes, Adanna saw Uncle Rafael packing up his medical equipment and quietly left the room.

_But…wait a minute..._

Adanna pushed herself up once again.

“Wait, how do you know that Themba’s safe? We lost contact with him on skype didn’t we? He…he even left his last words…for us.” Tears stung her eyes again.

“Oh.” Baba’s eyes widened, as if he suddenly remembered something, “That’s because he called us on the phone just now, while you were out.” Baba explained with another smile.

“Wha-? Is he hurt? What did he say?”

“He’s injured. Quite badly. But he’ll make it.” said her Mama.

“King T’Chaka had already made arrangements to fly him back into Wakanda. He’ll be home the day after tomorrow.” Baba added, his smile widened.

_Oh. So that must be the ‘preparations’ they were talking about just now._

But as apprehension ebbed, curiosity reigned.

“But what happened to him? How did he survive?”

All of a sudden, her Baba began shaking his head and laughing, completely out of the blue. To be honest, her Baba’s whole demeanor right then seemed more like an act of _disbelief_ rather than joy.

“Yeah. See, I just _knew_ that he’d be having a field day with this.” Her Mama scoffed, though her eyes were twinkling brightly and radiating mirth.

“When we lost contact with him just now,” Her Baba paused and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, “it was because the aliens were shooting at him. But you remember that vibranium cover Mama bought for him last year for his tablet? Yeah. That thing saved his life.” Her Baba paused again, but this time to share a disgustingly and _traumatizingly_ sweet look with her Mama.

Adanna suppressed a shudder.

“After that he ran off and hid himself inside a bank…” Her Baba finished.

“Oh.” Adanna said blankly, pausing in thought, “So then he was at the bank the whole time?”

Her Baba smiled again, “Actually, no. The aliens found them at the bank.”

From the corner of her eyes, Adanna noticed her Mama rolling her eyes. A second later, her Mama shook her head and snorted.

“And…?” Adanna prompted. Her Baba always loved teasing her like that. Always liked to drag things out and create lots and lots of suspense.

“Someone came to their rescue, of course.” Her Baba smiled innocently, as if he wasn’t deliberately delaying her acquisition of answers.

“Who?”

“Why don’t you take a guess, munchkin?”

Her Mama rolled her eyes a second time, “Tsk! Enough with the suspense already. Stop torturing the poor child.” said her Mama.

“Baba, please just tell me!” Adanna begged.

There was a second’s pause.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

And then…

“Captain America.”

She might’ve just fainted again. 

 

*     *     *

 

**Saturday, 10:15PM, 5 th May 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: Bethesda Terrace, 72 Terrace Drive, New York, NY 10021, United States of America.**

**Locale: A nice park on a sunny morning**

Yup.

He was ready.

So ready.

He could do this. He already knew what to say. Practiced the little speech for over a hundred times now. In the shower. In front of the mirror. On his bed. While riding his bike over. He’d run through the words over and over again.

He could do this.

Yeah, he could do this. Totally.

Steve Rogers marched towards the sleek, black-cherry colored convertible. Steadfast and unwavering, like the good soldier he was.

_I can do this._

“Mr. Stark.” Steve greeted with a smile, his right hand proffered. A gesture of peace and acceptance. Or rather, in this case, a gesture of picking up the humble pie.

“Cap’n.” greeted the billionaire in the silver suit, whose hand Steve shook firmly.

“That’s a nice car.” Steve blurted out. _Stalling. You’re stalling, Rogers._ Coward.

The self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, and philanthropist shrugged nonchalantly, “Acura NSX. Pretty sleek, isn’t she?” He said, rapping his knuckles twice on the car's glossy surface.

Of course, Steve hadn’t a goddamn clue what Mr. Rich Boy over there was talking about, but he sort of assumed that it was the car’s model name that he’d just heard. Steve nodded, and shook Stark’s hand a couple more times, willing the words to form on his lips as he continually pumped Tony Stark's hand, as if he could just shake the words off his chest, or off his hands.

_This is getting awkward._

“I can get you one, if you like.” said Stark out of the blue. And for once in his life, Steve Rogers was actually thankful for Tony Stark's ever-loquacious personality, although he was still too dazed to register the words.  

“Excuse me?”

“I mean the car.” Stark clarified, “Or, a more up-to-date motorcycle, if that’s more to your taste.”

Steve raised a brow and spared his bike a quick glance. 

Stark cleared his throat, “You know, you should swing by the tower some time. I could fix up a custom for you.” Stark raised his pointer, “Speaking of. Do you prefer Ape Hangers?”

Steve smiled.

“No. I…uh. I don’t think I’m ready to handle anything too modern just yet.” Steve said sheepishly, “But thank you. It’s kind of you to offer.”

Stark scoffed, “Yeah well, can’t exactly have a core member of the Avengers driving around in……” He paused, and waved to Steve’s bike parked on the sidewalk, “… _that._ See? I can’t even say it, it’d leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

Steve laughed, “Trust me. When I’m ready, I’ll take up your offer anytime.”

“Well, don’t take too long, Cap.” Stark said, and took a step back towards the roofless car. A _convertible_. Yup. That was the term. Had to start getting used to all these modern jargons now. At least knowing them would make him look less like an idiot.  

Stark glanced over Steve’s shoulder at something.

 _Probably looking for Doctor Banner,_ Steve surmised.

Turning his head, Steve followed the billionaire’s gaze, and indeed, it was Doctor Banner that had fallen into his line of sight. The good doctor stood about twenty feet away, and appeared to be engrossed in an animated conversation with Agent Romanoff. And Agent Barton, too, of course.

When Steve tore his gaze away from Doctor Banner ( _sure_ _…_ that’s the person he was looking so intently at), Stark was reaching for the convertible’s door handle.

_Now or never, Rogers. Now or never._

“Mr. Stark…!” Steve blurted out quickly, which earned him a questioning look from the billionaire.

Time to lay his cards. 

“I’d like to apologize.” Steve shook his head, “For the things I said yesterday……I mean, back on the helicarrier…”

There. It was out. Finally. Phew. That wasn't so bad. Just a little awkward was all. But he could definitely handle a little awkwardness, considering he'd once been force to dance on stage wearing nothing but a ridiculous costume.  

Stark slowly removed his hand from the convertible's handle. 

Steve cleared his throat, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was out of line.”

It wasn’t until a few moments later that Stark responded.

“Water under the bridge, Rogers.” A short pause ensued, “Besides, none of us were ourselves. We were all under the scepter’s influence.”

Steve looked away.

Yeah…

If only things were that simple…

No. It wasn’t all because of the scepter, at least on Steve’s part. Because deep down, Steve knew he actually meant some of the things he’d said yesterday. Steve sighed, and glanced down at the asphalt beside his loafers, at the tiny dry leaves entangled between the minuscule crevices of the pavement.

“I was wrong about you, Tony.” Steve stared into Tony’s eyes, “You _are_ a hero. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Steve stated firmly.

The billionaire nodded and cleared his throat. And before Steve knew it, the other man had reached inside his suit pocket and pulled out a black rectangular object.

“Here.” Tony said. 

After several moments of hesitation, Steve took the object. He ran his fingers over its surface, feeling the metallic coldness beneath his calloused skin. The object felt nice to touch. Smooth, light, and slim. Almost like a cold pack, just infinitely smoother. He could touch this thing all day.

There was just one problem though.

He hadn’t a single clue what the heck this thing was and what it was for.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a phone. A secure phone.”

Steve was so surprised that he nearly crushed the device in his palm.

A **_phone_** _._

A goddamn **_phone_** _._

Seriously, since when did phones evolve beyond the need for buttons? And what in the actual Dickens happened to the good’ ol rotary dial that he used to play with whenever he called Bucky’s house on New Year’s Eve? Jesus Christ. Was he really  _that_ old? Ahem. Well, he  _was_. But still, how the heck was he even supposed to work this ‘phone’?!! It didn’t even have buttons!!

Tony held up a hand before Steve could voice out his protests, “Whatever you do, just throw away the one SHIELD gave you.”

“Hey, at least that one has buttons.” He grumbled under his breath.

Stark rolled his eyes. “ _Just_ throw it away…”

Steve frowned at Stark’s insistence. Why insist on throwing his phone away? Was this another modern culture thing that he didn't know about: that people had to throw away their old phones after being gifted a new one?

But after a few moments of puzzling and musing, understanding dawned.

“SHIELD’s keeping track of my movements…Aren’t they?” Steve said in a tone of resignation.

Tony snorted, “You bet your ass they’re tracking you. It’s what they do, Cap.”

Steve nodded, “Thanks for this, Tony. But uh…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t think I know how to use it.” He said sheepishly.

God, how he _missed_ knowing things. And damn it, there weren’t even buttons on this thing, okay?! No buttons. A  _mortifying_ reminder for him to really start upping his game (if he even had any game to begin with) if he wanted to avoid feeling like such a goddamn idiot all the time.  

“Don’t worry. You'll figure it out." Stark said with a dismissing wave of his hand.

Steve's brows arched in two dubious quirks.

Stark pointed at the phone, "I designed the software to suit you. Like, there’s an interactive guide and everything. Just press that little unlock button at the side, and you’ll know how to use it in no time.”

Steve lowered his gaze onto the black device in his hand. That a phone could function without buttons still seemed to him a bit like magic.

Oh, great, now he just realized that he hadn’t a goddamn clue what the hell a ‘software’ was.

So much for not feeling like an idiot.

Steve located the tiny metallic nub and pressed it down. It clicked, and instantly, the dark screen lit up. Steve nearly dropped the device when a loud noise came blaring from the device. Steve rolled his eyes. It was a song. Correction. It was a short verse of a song, one that he knew _all too well._

 _“…The star spangled man……with…a plan….”_ Sang the device’s feminine voice.

Steve shot Tony a withering look, temporarily putting aside his shock that ' _G_ _asp!_ Modern phones could sing too!!'. 

“Figured I’d give it a little…you know, personality.” Tony said dryly.

“Thanks.” Steve stepped forward and the two men shook hands once again, “I’ll see you around, Tony.”

“You too, Cap.”

Steve turned around and began walking away. Immediately, he noticed Agent Romanoff (he sees her everywhere, really) holding out a black duffel bag to Doctor Banner.

“Hey, Rogers!” Stark called out from behind him.

Steve paused in his strides and turned around.

“Yeah?”

For a moment, Mr. Billionaire Extraordinaire actually seemed a little hesitant (and sheepish), much to Steve’s amusement.

“Come by the tower sometime."

Steve arched a brow, "Look, if its about my rinky-dink vehicle choice-"

" _Rinky_ -dink? What the-" Stark snorted, " _Seriously?_ Which era do you even come fro-" Stark raised his hand, "Wait no, don't answer that."

Steve fought a blush. 

"I didn't choose the bike, Tony. SHIELD gave it to me."

" _No._ This isn't about the bike, which, by the way you should totally do a full bug sweep on, to get rid of any hidden tracking devices."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I asked you to come by 'cuz I know the best therapists in town. Thought you might need it.”

Steve felt a tight pinch forming at the bridge of his nose, “Excuse me?”

“Therapist. You need help.” said the billionaire pointedly.

“What?” Steve scoffed, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Stark raised a challenging brow, “You don’t look fine, Cap.”

Steve’s arms went akimbo. He shook his head, “Alright, Stark, what are you even talking about?”

“There’s something different about you, compared to when we were, you know, fighting aliens…” Stark said.

Steve snorted. “Yeah, and the difference being I’m no longer wearing tights.”

Stark laughed, “So the old man has a sense of humor. Good to know. And you know that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, your whole…” Stark waved, “comportment, feels a little different. Like there’s this…I don’t know, _haunted_ , look on your face right now.”

“Uh-huh…” Steve eyed the other man skeptically.

“So. What’s with the doldrums, Spangles?”

“ _Okay_. Now you’re being ridiculous. I’m _fine_.” Steve scoffed.

“Not from what I see.” Stark argued back.

“Of course…” Steve smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, “Well, then, by all means, Stark, do enlighten me with your state-of-the-art psychoanalysis.”

Stark shrugged, “It’s not that complicated, really. Just boils down to one simple question."

"Which is...?"

"Well, how do you feel, Cap? Now that the fight's over.”

Stark’s words cut through Steve’s soul like a barrage of high-speed bullets.

_The fight’s over…How do I feel…?_

_I feel……_

Steve eyes widened slightly as he let his arms dropped limply to his sides. A sighed escaped him, and he looked away. Stark had really hit it home. To be honest, he’d been avoiding this issue ever since he woke up from the ice.   

Empty. He felt empty, like he had nothing left in this world to live for anymore. As if there was this deep and never-ending chasm lodged somewhere within the confines of his chest. He hated it, that sensation. He really hated it to his guts. Every time, it made him feel suffocated, and asphyxiated. As if there was some kind of vacuum zone in his lungs; a black hole, sucking away all the air, stealing away his oxygen supply. It was unbearable. 

The first time Steve felt this way was actually right after he woke up from the ice: when he was charging around Times Square like a mad bull. Well, more _specifically,_ it happened at the exact moment Nick Fury told him about his 70-year slumber, about how he had slept through a time-travelling train ride and had now arrived at this faux-Utopian future. That revelation had hit him hard. Damn near crushed him right then and there in the middle of the Times Square. That huge tsunami of emptiness, gushing into his chest, stirring up endless ripples of forlornness within his soul. It was truly a gut-wrenching experience: to be standing right there in a world he barely knew, surrounded by people who wore strange clothes and who gave him weird looks every step he took, and then finally, to realize that his whole identity, and his whole goddamn _life_ (or rather, the life he could’ve had), was fated to remain eternally on the ice, cold and irretrievable.

So yeah. It _sucked_.

Back then, at the Times Square, as he stood there in his catatonia, Steve literally felt the entire kernel of his spiritual-self splintering asunder. Hell, he couldn’t even recognize himself anymore. Who was he? Who was that man who stood in the middle of the Times Square wearing an old SSR T-Shirt and brown khaki pants?

Who was he?

Steve Rogers?

Who the hell _was_ Steve Rogers?

Was he still that same punk who hated bullies?

Was he still that same punk who never backed away from a fight, even when he knew he’d lose?

Was he the willful man with that spirit of unquenchable flames still?

No.

No. He thought not.

That Steve Rogers of the past was gone. And the Steve Rogers of the present was nothing more than a lonely man who couldn’t fit in no matter how hard he tried; a soulless drifter, lost without a purpose; an empty shell; a hollow mannequin. Whatever fiery spirit that was once his? That was long gone too. Gone. Buried beneath the depths of the tundra, inhumed under endless layers of frost and rime, leaving behind an inferior version of his old self. The Steve Rogers of the present was the antithesis of strength. He was _weak._ He was the very definition of _emptiness_. He was a man who’d lost his spirit entirely. Because, really, what more spirit could a man possess when he’d already lost everything he ever cared for? A spirit originated from a purpose in life, a _why-to-live_. But for Steve Rogers’ case? His _why-to-live_ was long lost beneath layers upon layers of frost. He no longer had a  _why-to-live_.

Thus confronted with these painful experiences, and these harrowing emotions, a man would sooner or later begin questioning the  _reason_ he was even alive in the first place. He would begin questioning the  _meaning_ of his own survival. And eventually, he would rather himself be dead than alive, since living becomes so painful that death seems painless.  

Did he wish that they never found him? Would he rather not to have survived the Valkyrie crash at all? Would he rather be kept on ice forever?

Well, _yes._

Selfishly, yes.

Yes, he would rather they never found him. Yes, he would rather just _die_ and never open his eyes again. Yes, yes and yes!! Because he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He couldn’t fucking _be_ in this new world without thinking about all those things that he’d lost. He couldn't. He just couldn’t. Everywhere he went, everything he ate, everything he saw, and every single person he’d spoken to; all of them reminded Steve that he was nothing more than an old Fuddy-Duddy out of time, an old soldier who’d somehow cheated death, someone who _clearly_ didn’t belong in this generation. Worse? They were all mnemonics of the things that he’d lost: which was _everything._ And for a man who had lost everything, there could be nothing left of his miserable being. _Nothing_. Nothing except for emptiness. Timeless, consistent emptiness.

It was true, the timeless nature of it. Because that emptiness was there every second of the day, from the moment he woke up in the morning right up to the moment he passed out on the bed due to a complete mental meltdown. It was always there, pervading his consciousness. An existence without any temporal limits, forever lurking inside his mind. 

And now, Tony’s words kept playing out in Steve’s head; ricocheting and echoing repeatedly like a broken record.

How _did_ he feel now that the fight was over?

True, things were indeed different when there was a fight. When there was a fight, the emptiness would subside, _completely._ When he was pummeling aliens, he felt somewhat whole again. But that was only because with a fight, came a purpose. Captain America was a soldier, and a soldier fights. And when a soldier fights, he has a purpose. And that newfound purpose would undoubtedly fill up the emptiness within him. At least temporarily. But when the battle was over, what then? What more purpose was there to his life? How was he supposed to live when the fight is over? How was he supposed to live when there are no enemies left to pummel?

At some point, Steve had even begun to realize that the waters went far deeper than what he’d originally thought. Indeed, the whole affair turned out to be far more _sinister_ than he could ever imagine it to be. So much so that it downright scared the living shit out of him every time he thought about it. Because deep down within him, lurking amongst the darkest interstices of his mind, resides an even more sickening notion: he _wanted_ the world to be in chaos, he _wanted_ there to be war, he _wanted_ there to be a battle, because he _craved_ for it.

He craved it because he _needed_ it. Because only with chaos and war could Steve Rogers live. Because only chaos and war could fill up the emptiness in Steve Rogers’ heart. Because with chaos and war, Steve Rogers was a soldier. Without chaos and war, Steve Rogers was nothing.

It wasn’t until he came upon that cognizance that Steve realized just how fucked up in the head he truly was. It sickened him to the core, what he had become. It nauseated him, knowing how much of a hypocrite he truly was: claiming to hate bullies and yet being someone who craved for war deep down. It tore his insides apart, knowing that at the end of the day, Steve Rogers was just another goddamn _hypocrite._ He could barely look at himself in the mirror nowadays. And hell, even if he could, he knew he wouldn’t be able to recognize the man staring back at him. Most of the time, the image he saw through the mirror revolted him so much that he’d wanted to just smash it into pieces. And then not once did he fail to entertain thoughts of a ‘follow-up action’ which would involve picking up those broken mirror shards from the floor and then letting their sharp edges deliver his final punishment. Punishment deserving of hypocrites like him. Punishment by death. A self-imposed death penalty. He wanted to die. To die a hero. To die an honorable death rather than see himself turn into such a hypocrite, into a man he barely recognized. So many times had he wished for death. And the closest he’d gotten happened merely two days ago, when he’d nearly jumped off a train platform right in front of a moving train.

Maybe seeing a therapist wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“…Earth to Capsicle…Earth to Capsicle…”

Steve snapped out of his haze.

“Sorry, Tony.” Steve shook his head, “I zoned out.”

“You don’t say.”

Steve cleared his throat, “You were saying?”

“I said I’ve noticed this funk of yours back at the Shawarma place yesterday. At first I thought you were just tired or something. But, obviously, that grey cloud still follows you around today.”

Steve kept quiet.

Tony backed away, and leaned against the convertible, “Look, just think about it. Everyone needs help sometimes, Rogers. Even living legends.”

Living Legends.

Hah.

Steve was beginning to think that those might not even exist.

There could only be Dead Legends, not Living Legends. You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become a hypocrite, or  _worst,_ a villain. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Steve said, backing away.

This conversation was  _over._

“Get your head outta your funky ass, Spangles. We can’t have a man who’s messed up in the head leading the Avengers.”

Steve turned away and strode towards the redhea – _ahem_ , towards the two SHIELD agents.

 

*     *     *

 

Was it just him? Or did women today really, _really_ know how to pick their clothes?

Old-fashioned this soldier might be, but Jesus H. _Christ_ , even Steve Rogers, a man who came from an era of loose blouses, A-line skirts and God-help-him  _bobby socks_ , could appreciate the sight of Agent Romanoff’s gams wrapped sinfully in a pair of skintight black pants. And what about those heels? And that cream colored leather jacket adorning her ivory skin? Steve sniffed twice, just in case he was having a jumbo nosebleed. Ahem. Holy wow. Seriously, if this was how all women today dress themselves, then Steve was pretty sure he’d be dying from a case of severe anemia this time around rather than, say, from something heroic such as a GSW. Indeed, what a droll notion that was, to think that he’d just survived a ferocious battle with a hostile militia from outer space, only to meet his true end at the hands of…what? Contemporary women’s fashion?

Droll.

Steve strode towards the SHILED-issued black sedan, hoping to bid farewell to the two agents before they all went their separate ways. As he approached the vehicle, Steve saw Doctor Banner walking towards him with a black duffel in hand.

“Doctor Banner.” Steve greeted before shaking Doctor Banner’s outstretched hand.

Okay, he might be getting a little loopy here, but Steve was _pretty_ sure the doctor’s duffel bag had a slight floral scent.

 _Jasmine. With a tinge of rose._ His traitorous mind supplemented. Well. Definitelygetting loopy there.

“Steve.” Doctor Banner greeted back.

“Catching a ride with Stark?” asked Steve, pulling his hand back.

“Yeah. Said he had a place for me at the tower.” Banner snorted, “At first I said no, but then he said he had my own personal lab set up for me…well, I just couldn’t pass it up after hearing that.” said Banner.

Steve smiled, “Sounds more fun than Calcutta.”

Banner laughed, “If you don’t count dealing with a leaking roof as part of the fun package, then yeah, I guess.”

Steve chuckled. _Leaky roofs._ He’d encountered plenty of those. Good ol’ days.

Steve’s eyes pricked with unshed tears and an onslaught of shrouded loneliness. Vehemently, he shoved his feelings aside, stamping it down; as if he was putting out a cigarette. Maybe he should try poking a few holes in his ceiling tonight just to have a chance to relive the old days. Might even be therapeutic.     

“Well. I should head off now.” said Doctor Banner, interrupting Steve's dark brooding, “I’ve kept Stark waiting long enough.”

“Of course. Take care, doctor.”

“You too, Steve.”

The two men parted.

As Steve continued his path towards the redhead, he could feel the nerves creeping up to him, and his stomach making that silly little flip every few steps he took. The redhead appeared unaware of his approach, seemingly too preoccupied with the task of stowing a huge assortment of duffel bags into the trunk. 

_Should I go help her?_

The question itself had Steve slowing in his steps. 

Would it even be appropriate for him to help her? He knew how sensitive today’s women were about feminist issues (read about those in the morning papers). But more than that, he also knew just how capable today’s women were in handling themselves. Not that women back in his day were incapable. Just that back in his day, women were more likely to accept chivalrous offers from men without taking offense.

Steve avoided the trunk.

He sauntered towards the driver’s side door instead. A second later, the window lowered.

“Agent Barton.” Steve nodded at the man behind the window.

“Cap.”

“That’s a lot of bags over there.” Steve’s glanced briefly towards the trunk, where the redhead was still slogging away. His eyes lingered on her legs for a brief moment before he forcibly looked away. _Jesus Christ. What am I? A teenager?_  

Agent Barton snorted, “It’s all her stuff.”

Steve smiled, “Vacation?”

“Yeah. One month for her. Six for me, because of…” Barton sighed and tilted his head slightly aside, “you know.”

Steve raised a palm, “It’s not your fault."

"Really?" Agent Barton snorted, "Cuz it sure as hell feels like it is."

"You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anyone of us could’ve fallen under Loki’s mind control if we were there in your place when it happened. And don’t forget, you’ve bounced back almost right after you were freed. Even volunteered to help us out during yesterday’s battle. That’s an admirable quality by my book.”

Barton nodded, seemingly satisfied with his speech. How was it that he could always spew out the right words to save others, and yet he couldn't do the same to save himself?

“Hey, uh, Cap? I wanna say thanks.”

Steve cocked his head to one side, slightly taken aback, “For what?”

Barton shrugged, “You didn’t really have to let me be a part of the team, I mean after what I did.”

“Then I'd be a fool." Steve smiled, "Your skills played an important part in our victory, if I recall. And besides," Steve spared another quick glance at the trunk, "Agent Romanoff said you were good to go.”

Barton nodded.

_Here goes nothing…_

Steve rubbed his palms against the coarse fabric of his brown khakis.  

“So, uh. Are you two…? Uh...” Steve cleared his throat, “Vacationing…together?”

Actually, what he had wanted to say was fondueing. Though he managed to hold himself back before making a complete fool of himself. 

“Yeah.” Barton replied matter-of-factly.

Some invisible pebble sank in his stomach. Kinda like that time in the plane when he thought Howard and Peggy were 'Fondue-ing'.  

So.

_Those two are together._

_Like, **together** together. _

Right.

Right…

Steve nodded twice and sniffed a little too loudly.

_Guess that’s a no to asking her out for coffee then._

“Great. Then I hope you guys have a good trip.” Steve said, offering a hand shake, “And take it easy, Barton. Remember it was all Loki’s doing, not yours.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

Steve released Agent Barton’s hand and walked away.

He headed towards the rear of the car, towards the boot. Incidentally, it also came to Steve’s attention that his tummy had now perfected the occult art of flip-flopping, and butterfly-breeding.

“Need a hand?” asked Steve.

“Nah…” said the redhead without looking away from the interior of the trunk, which was stuffed with at least ten different duffel bags by then, “I’ve got it covered while you guys were playing buddy-buddy over there.” She straightened herself before reaching for the trunk door above her head, “Still, I’m a little surprised you hadn’t offered your help sooner. Thought chivalry was a thing back in the 40s.”

Steve chuckled.

The trunk door slammed shut with a bang.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the 1940s anymore.” A sad smile took over Steve’s countenance, “I just…I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

The agent’s brows shot up to her hairline, “Hold on. Let me get this straight. Did you just use chivalry to _justify_ your _lack_ of chivalry?”

Steve’s mouth instantly went agape, his eyes widening in alarm, “No, I…I’m sorry…I…I didn’t-”

A quick smile formed on her face, “Oh, relax…Cap. I’m just kidding.”

Jesus  _Christ._

“Right.” Steve sighed.

This dame _really_ had a knack for keeping him on his toes, so it seemed. Not sure if that’s even a good thing.

She smirked. “Got you good though, didn’t I?”

“Yeah…” Steve rubbed his neck sheepishly, "Yeah, you did."

“So.” said Agent Romanoff.

Steve cleared his throat.

“So.”

Clearly, Erskine hadn't considered the possibility of having expert conversationalists among his breed of supersoldiers. Perhaps the formula was specifically designed to make one a shitty talker. Smart mouths don't win wars, after all. 

“What’s eating you?” asked Agent Romanoff pointedly, instantly transforming Steve’s visage from 'too-shy-to-ask-a-girl-out' to 'deer-caught-in-headlights'.

Steve recovered quickly, “What? No.” He shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh…” said the spy skeptically.

Steve averted his gaze.

“What’s with the funk, Rogers? You’ve been acting weird ever since that Shawarma place yesterday.” said the female agent.

Christ. Was he _that_ easy of a read?

"It's all over your face, Rogers. So you might as well spit it out."

Yep. He totally was.   

“It’s just…” Steve sighed, “Probably just having trouble getting used to…you know, everything.” Steve deflected, shaking his head a little.

A skeptical look crossed Agent Romanoff’s beautiful face. Seemed to him like there was no fooling this lady. Then again, he'd always been a shitty liar. 

Surprisingly, she actually let him off the hook. She didn’t push. Not that he wanted her to.

“Got any plans yet?” she asked instead.

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and studied his shoes.

Plans.

He’d made a lot of plans actually. Weeks ago. Just hadn’t found the motivation to put them into motion was all.

Steve shook his head, “I don’t know.” He took a breath, “But, I guess it’d be nice to travel around the world a little. Learn about the stuff I’d missed out on.”

Agent Romanoff nodded and released a hum of appreciation, “Journey of self-discovery. Nice.”

“Yeah. You could say that…” Steve smiled.

Agent Romanoff lifted a brow, “But that might take a while, won’t it?”

Steve chuckled, “Probably.”

“Yeah?” The redhead eyed him dubiously, her beautiful green eyes now narrowed into slits, “Think you can manage?”

Steve shrugged, a slight tint of a blush coloring his cheeks, “Guess I’ll just have to get by. Somehow.”

“You sure? Things could get pretty tough, you know, if you’re still not used to things in this time.”

At that, Steve smirked, “What, you mean tougher than fending off an alien attack?”

Agent Romanoff smiled.

It wasn't a full-blown smile. Just a slight tilt of her lips. It was an enigmatic smile. A smile shrouded in mystery. Steve was surprised by how much he liked that smile.

“Fair enough.” She said, offering a half-shrug.

“I’ll be fine...” Steve assured, “But thanks, for,” Steve shrugged, "you know. The concern."

“Can I ask you something?”

Steve’s heart skipped three beats, which may or may not have something to do with his many fantasies in which the redhead actually asked him out for a coffee date. Not that he wanted to ruin anything between her and Agent Barton. Just, you know, they could still spend some time together in a I’m-not-trying-to-avoid-becoming-alien-food sort of capacity. Platonically speaking.

“Sure.” He answered warily.

“What brought this on?”

Immediately, Steve frowned. Because that most certainly did _not_ sound like an invitation to a date.

“I'm sorry?” Steve asked, grasping at any form of clarification she could provide.  

“The travelling around the world thing.” She said, “I mean there’re stuff to be explored within the States. Why go abroad?”

Okay. Now he’d rather he become alien food.

He shrugged, “It’d be nice to get away for a while.” He paused, “From all this.” He jerked his head to the side to indicate their surroundings. _Because it’s too painful to be at a place I once knew, but now know nothing of._

A look of understanding flashed across the redhead’s countenance.

She shot him a weak smile. Sympathetic. And consoling. And not to forget  _enigmatic._ The woman was still a complete enigma to Steve, no doubt. He only hoped that one day he'd have the chance to explore the full depths of her strength and character.  

“Looks like the old man's gonna be quite busy for a while, huh?” She remarked casually.

Steve returned the smile. “Well. For me, that’s a good thing.”

Agent Romanoff looked at him strangely, “Why?”

“Just need to keep busy, I guess.” said Steve in a dolorous timbre, “It tends to get tough when……” Steve trailed off.

“When...?” Agent Romanoff prodded.

Steve cleared his throat, suddenly finding the pebbles beside his feet to be objects of utmost intrigue. “When I have too much free time to sit around and think…” He finished and released a heavy sigh.

Agent Romanoff's gaze softened.

“Hey.” She said.

Steve’s face lit up in wonderment. This was totally new. He’d never heard that tone from the her before. Who knew spunky, sassy, and badass female agents could have such gentle voices? Call him crazy, but something told him he would constantly be rendered amazed by the many facets and layers of the woman standing in front of him. In fact, she'd surprised him plenty already during yesterday's battle.

“You’re going through a crazy experience right now. So it’ll be a while before you can fully come to terms with everything. Just take it easy on yourself. And don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it.” said Agent Romanoff.

Something inside Steve’s chest eased; like the loosening of a vise grip. 

A slow sighed escaped him as he nodded.

“It’s the past, isn’t it? You keep thinking about going back. Back to the 1940s.” Agent Romanoff said pointedly.

Very gently, Steve leaned his hip against the back of the car. He said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.

“Look,” She said, again with that angelic tone, “You’ve been given a second chance. And let’s face it. In our line of work? Those don’t really come around too often. So try not to throw it away, okay? Figure it out.”

Her words struck a chord with him.

Steve’s baby blues sought out her green orbs. And God, it was utterly amazing how so much strength and weight could be contained within those shades of emerald. It was as if she knew. As if she somehow just **_knew_** everything there was to know about second chances.

He wondered if she was once given a second chance too. Did something happen to her in the past? What was her life like before SHIELD?

 _None of your damn business, Rogers._   

Steve pushed himself away from the car, “Trust me, I’ve been trying really hard these days. To figure out this new life.” Steve let out a breath, “Still can’t believe that _this_ ” Steve paused and waved around him, “is my life now, you know? It feels like…I don’t know, like a dream, I guess?” Another pause as Steve sighed, “It’s quite… _confusing_ , to be honest. It’s like when your reality feels like a dream, but your _dreams_ , damn it,” Steve ran a hand through his hair, “the dreams just feel **_so_** _**real**_ …”

Steve noticed something flickered in Agent Romanoff’s eyes as she smiled wanly at him.

He saw something in that smile. Sympathy…and _understanding._ It almost felt as though she understood precisely what he was going through.

Maybe she did.

Or maybe she was just pitying him.

Steve chuckled bitterly, “Sounds silly, huh?” Steve shook his head dolefully, “Guess I still haven’t figured out how to _be_ in this new world.”

“Only one way to find out.” said Agent Romanoff.

“Which is?”

She shrugged. “By living.”

Steve smiled sadly, his eyes downcast, “That’s kinda hard when I don’t even know how.”

“That’s the point,” Agent Romanoff said emphatically, “You learn the ‘how’ _as_ you live out your life. That’s the only way, isn’t it?”

Steve’s eyes abandoned the ground almost instantly. And for a moment, the two Avengers gazed into the depths of each other’s orbs, thus propelling their consciousness into a mystical realm in which their souls intermingled and their spirits interweaved into braids of affinity. It was a powerful connection. So immensely and deeply felt, at least on Steve’s part. Too bad it only lasted for a split second.

It ended when a teasing smile formed on Agent Romanoff’s countenance.

Not wanting to get tangled up in another social faux pas, Steve ended his stupor. 

“Thank you, Ma’am.” He said quickly, and he nodded, “That’s pretty good advice.”

The lady jerked back in mock indignation, her palms pressed over the center of her breasts as she feigned a dramatic gasp, “What? Do you doubt me?”

Steve laughed, “No. Ma’am.” Steve’s laughter ebbed as his expression slowly morphed into one of heated intensity. There was no joking or jest in his cadence, only the endless frissons of undisguised admiration and attraction rolling off his tongue with every syllable he uttered, “At this point, I really don’t think ‘doubt’ is the word I’d use to describe what I feel about you, Agent Romanoff...”

Pronto, Steve realized he must’ve said something hilariously wrong, because Agent Romanoff’s posture went completely taut as soon as those words left his mouth. And almost too quickly, she backed one step away from him.

Sensing the obvious defensiveness in the lady’s body language, Steve couldn’t help but frown. Blistering fopdoodles! Had he offended her somehow? What the hell did he do this time? And why did he always have to act like such an _imbecile_ around the women he was attracted to? Why?! Perhaps it was the serum’s fault. After all, good becomes great and bad becomes worse. And considering he was already _bad_ with women to begin with……

Ugh. No. Just… ** _no._**  

Before Steve could even fumble out his usual five-hundred-page-long apology, he saw Agent Romanoff holding out her right hand with her palm facing upwards. Her hand ended up hovering mere inches away from his solar plexus. Steve’s eyes widened and his breath hitched as frissons of panic coursed through every cell in his body. All of a sudden, the river of time froze, as if the Universe had been propelled into a stasis, a temporal inertia. And everything else in his surroundings dematerialized, leaving behind only him, and Agent Romanoff’s beautiful hand.

Steve’s jaw went slack as he scrutinized the delicate hand hovering in the space between them. His eyes roamed over its smooth, creamy texture, savoring the full extent of its alabaster glory. He wondered what it’d feel like if his _lips_ were travelling all over that hand instead of his eyes. Maybe he could then find out of it was really as _smooth_ as it looked-

_Christ._

A hand. He was losing his marbles over a _hand_.

But seriously, how on Earth could a hand look so _delicious_?

No. The real question was: what the heck was he supposed to do with it?

Was it an offer for him to take her hand?

Should he just reach out and hold it?

Or should he flip her hand over and kiss the back of-

“Phone.” said the redhead, once again snapping him out of his stupefied reverie.

 _Phone?_ He thought. And by instinct, his gaze went over to that phone booth situated at the sidewalk.

Steve blinked. “Excuse me?”

She looked at him as if he'd grown three heads. 

“Phone. Give me your phone.” she repeated, even added a firm jerk of her outstretched hand for emphasis.

_Phone? Wha-_

Oh.

 ** _Phone_**.

Tout de suite, any previous thoughts about uprooting that phone booth from the ground were forgone, and were promptly replaced with distinct images of that black rectangular object currently sitting inside his pocket.

Right. Phone.  

 _That_ phone.

That phone-which-doesn’t-look-like-a-phone phone.     

So much for upping his game and not acting like an idiot.

Reaching inside his leather jacket, Steve pulled out the sleek device Tony had given him just now. Their hands brushed lightly the moment her fingers slid across his to take the device out of his hand. The contact felt good. Really, _really_ good.

Christ. What _was_ it about this dame that would have him tingling all over every time?

Was it an unknown side-effect of the serum?

Or maybe he just craved a woman’s touch. It _had_ been nearly seven decades after all. So, surely, his touch receptors would jump at any chance to savor a woman’s gentle caress, right? Especially after such an extended period of dry-spell. But then again, who was he even kidding?! The truth was that he hadn’t had much physical contact with women to begin with, forties or not! Oh yeah, **_sure_** _,_ women would **_love_** to put their hands on a scrawny punk who had apparently inherited every strand of a stick figure’s DNA. Women totally get off on that.

Steve observed in fascination as Agent Romanoff turned the device over in her palms, and occasionally, she’d even let out these attractive little hums of appreciation that had his stomach performing a series of Olympian somersaults.

“Hmm…looks nice…” She murmured in a slightly husky voice as her fingers continued their endless ministrations on the sleek device. Steve’s stomach lining (and its overly active loins), ergo, thought it might be a good idea to start releasing yet another staggering batch of spawns - which consisted of about seven million butterflies.

“Wow……Custom made, huh?” The redhead drawled on, blissfully ignorant of the hullabaloo she’d just conjured up within the old soldier’s belly. And not to mention the sudden tightness he felt in his pants.

God.

Every time. Every _damn_ time he was near her, he’d somehow just… _metamorphose_ into a……a…teenage _whack job_ on a hormonal rampage.

Seriously.

Every. Time.

Steve gulped.

Hell, he'd be lucky if he could even _walk_ properly by the end of their conversation considering the blatant display of vitality by his 'enhancements' towards his clothing.

“Stark?” she finally asked.

“Yeah.” said Steve who suddenly felt a profound need to start recounting every single baseball stat in the entire history of Major League Baseball. Yet his eyes wouldn't leave her. They just wouldn't.  _Couldn't._

Her slender index finger slid to the edge of the device and touched the small metallic protuberance there. She pressed it down gently. And Steve wasn't even aware of it until it was too late. 

_“…the star spangled man…with…a plan…”_

The redhead burst out laughing.

Crimson heat crawled up Steve’s neck, slithering its way up his face. In just a matter of seconds, Steve’s visage was as red as a tomato. A vein in his forehead throbbed dangerously and he could've have sworn that his hair was mere seconds away from combusting. God, if only he could melt into a puddle of star-spangled goo right then and there. But hey, at least he got to hear Agent Romanoff’s genuine laughter. She truly had an amazingly beautiful laugh, this dame. The way she laughed right then literally just blew him away. Her face was ethereal, like it was _coruscating._ Hell, at this point, Steve couldn’t even tell why he was blushing anymore. Was it because he was embarrassed by the song? Or was it because of how absolutely gorgeous Agent Romanoff looked right then as she laughed at his expense?

Maybe it was both.

Suddenly feeling the need to regain what little smidgen of his dignity, Steve hurried out an explanation, “Look, I swear it wasn’t me…Stark put that in.”

“No…hahaha…” Agent Romanoff bit her bottom lip as she struggled to hold back another avalanche of hysterics (God, she looked gorgeous even when trying  _not_ to laugh), “I think it’s nice…hahaha.”

Nice?  

Okay, that _had_ to be a joke, right?

Steve’s blush deepened.

Agent Romanoff cleared her throat. “I mean, it suits you…” She said as she swiped and began tapping on the glass screen.

Steve snorted, “Yeah…you know what, I’m gonna change that later..." If he ever figured out how to operate the damn thing, that is. 

“Here.” Agent Romanoff said, holding the device in front of him. The screen was dark once again. “I’ve saved my number inside. Just in case you ever find yourself in trouble.” She paused, giving Steve the opportunity to stare at the redhead in wonder. Moments later, she clarified, “Well, I suppose you can now think of me as your emergency go-to person. Like, you can just call me if there’s anything about the modern world that you don’t understand or if there’s anything you need help with. Any time. Any day.”

Okay. What?

_Is she for real?_

“Umm…Wow. I mean, umm, thank you, Ma’am. That’s..." Steve nodded frantically, "That's really kind of you.”

To be honest, Steve found himself rather taken aback by her words. Obviously, he’d try not to read too _much_ into it, but it almost felt like she…cared about him. It felt really swell: to know that someone out there actually gave a shit about his well-being. Actually, it was the same when Tony made that therapist offer (though Steve had been too busy feeling defensive when that happened).

"You're welcome..." said the redhead, suddenly smirking, "But it'll only work if you take your phone back..."

She brandished the device in front of his face. 

"Oh, umm..."

Blushing, Steve reached forward. 

He tried to ignore the way his cells sprung alive the moment their fingers brushed; and the extra sentience and sensitivity that his skin had gained from the mere knowledge of her proximity. 

He failed.

Miserably.

“Alright.” She said and ran her palms down along the front of her pants. And then she smiled that enigmatic smile of hers, “I should go. Ugh. Leave of absence. You know how that works. Every second counts.”

Steve stepped forward and held out his hand for a handshake. He didn’t even bother ignoring the electricity this time. Because he knew it’d just be futile. The moment the lady’s palm slid into his, he was a goner. For this dame could summon electricity into Steve Rogers’ body even better than Thor flippin’ Odinson himself.

Steve shook the delicate hand twice, “I hear you’re due for a vacation…”

“Yeah…it’s been a long time coming. Figure I could relax a bit…”

Steve nodded, “Well then…I hope you…uh…enjoy your trip?”

Steve gave her hand three more firm shakes.

“Mmm hmm…”

“And take care of yourself…” Steve said. Two more shakes ensued.

“I will.” said the redhead.

SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“And I…I’ll try not to be a bother. I mean, I’ll try not to call you…” said Steve, three more shakes.  SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“Oh no, it’s fine. You should just call if there’s anything. Fury asked me to give you full assistance if you need any help readjusting to the modern world. It’s actually part of my assignment.”

“Not much of a vacation, I see.” said Steve, shaking their joined hands two more times. SHAKE. SHAKE.

She shrugged, “Life of a field agent.” SHAKE. SHAKE.

“But still. It’s your vacation. So I’ll try not to call.” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

She smirked, “If that means you’ll stay out of trouble, then, yes, I’d rather you don’t call.” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“Guess I’ll see you around, then?” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

She nodded, “Yep. See you around.” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“Take care of yourself, Agent Romanoff.”

Wait. Didn’t he say that already? SHAKE. SHAKE.

“Mmm hmm…” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

Once again, Steve felt himself drawn into the depths of her large, beautiful green eyes. He could really feel the power behind those twin orbs, engulfing him, inducing shivers down his spine, sucking the breath out of his lungs.

SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“Rogers?” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“Yes?” SHAKE. SHAKE. SHAKE.

“My hand’s getting a little sweaty.”

SHAKE. SHAKE. SHA-

Oh.

They broke eye contact, and immediately, Steve eyes flew towards their still joined hands.

Shit.

“Sorry.” He said, promptly releasing the lady’s hand.

She smiled at him.

“So...I guess handshake’s a thing back in your day?” said the redhead with a quirk of her brow as she rubbed her palm down the front of her pants, presumably to dry off her own sweat.

 _Idiot, Rogers. You’re an idiot._ Good thing he passed by a Chitaurian rifle on the way here. He could pick up that thing later and shoot himself in the face. 

Steve cleared his throat, “Yes. We uh…” Steve shifted a little, “We tend to shake hands. A lot.”

She smirked, “Is that right…”

_Will you give me your hand again if I say that it is?_

“Yes…” said Steve, a little out of breath.

A brief silence transpired. For a moment, neither the soldier nor the spy knew what to say to the other. Both seemed content to just breathe, and maybe study the other person’s irises every few seconds or so. Warmth enveloped Steve. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the morning sun.

Maybe he should offer another handshake.  

“I should…” Agent Romanoff jerked her thumb towards the car.

Steve nodded his head fervently. Time to regain a semblance of his non-existent social skills.

“Get going. Right. Yes. You should get going. Precious vacation time.” Steve laughed nervously, “Every second counts and all that. Oh, and uh…enjoy your trip, you know, wherever it is you’re headed to.”

“Guess I'll see you around then…” She smirked, “ _old man._ ”

With that, the redhead entered the car, leaving behind a grinning Steve Rogers in half-stupor.

 

*     *     *

 

Steve watched the sedan pull away from the sidewalk, wondering if he’d ever see the enigmatic Natasha Romanoff again. Well, he certainly _could_ if he wanted to. After all, he had her number now. But then again, what point was there to that?

What? So he could ask her out for a cup of coffee? And then what? Talk? Yeah, that would probably be a terrible idea, since it would just end up with him spilling out pathetic sob stories which he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be interested in hearing, like, at _all._ So, yup, definitely not a bright idea that last one, especially given the additional fact that she and Agent Barton were a couple. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to her even if she was single and available. Because deep down, Steve knew he hadn’t moved on from Peggy yet.   

Steve leaned his rear against the seat of his motorcycle and took in his surroundings. The park was thronged with civilians once again now that the SHIELD agents stationed in the park’s vicinity were dismissed. It was a fine morning; clear blue sky, scalding hot weather and all. And for once, Steve was actually grateful for that little shade under which his bike was parked.

He should probably get going too. The crowd was starting to give him weird looks already. In fact, he thought some of them might have recognized him from yesterday’s battle. Definitely another reason for him to get the hell out of there before he found himself stuck in a situation he didn’t know how to deal with, such as being swarmed by a group of over-enthusiastic reporters, for instance. But here’s the problem: he didn’t know where to go. Somehow, the thought of locking himself in his apartment and going through endless stacks of old files just revolted him to the core. He really didn’t need any more reminder of the life and people that he’d lost. He had plenty of those already.

The thought of travelling the world had been burgeoning in his mind for quite a while now. The idea was brought on three weeks ago, not by a desire to seek out a new purpose in life, but by something else. It was actually brought on by an address: 57-J Merriweather Winchester, UK.

Obviously, he never put his travel plans in motion. Hell, he never even left Manhattan.

He’d always tell himself that the reason for postponing his travelling plans was because he didn’t want to run into any situations that he couldn’t handle, or that he didn’t want to get himself into too much trouble. Which was fairly reasonable, considering his sheer ignorance of the modern world - he wasn’t even aware of the existence of 'buttonless' phones until today. But in the end, those were just that. Excuses. The _real_ reason, was fear. He was afraid. Afraid of what he might find at that address. Afraid of all the things that he’d undoubtedly feel if he so much as set foot in that retirement home.

No. He wasn’t ready to see Peggy Carter just yet. He wasn’t. Not in his current state: a broken man riddled with emptiness.

He wasn’t ready.

He couldn’t go there.  

Not even when he still owed Peggy Carter a dance. 

 

*     *     *

 

Natasha could literally _feel_ Clint’s eyes on her.

Three seconds. A glance. Three seconds. Another glance. Four seconds. One glance, this time longer. Two seconds. An even longer glance, bastard even turned his head over this time. _Very subtle, Clint. Very subtle._ Maybe this was a bad idea after all, spending her one-month vacation at the farm. If she could barely stand being in the same space with Clint for ten minutes, just imagine spending an entire month at the farm. She’d probably go nuts. God forbid she ended up widowing poor Laura Barton.

At the lights, the SHIELD-issued sedan slowed to a stop.

They were on their way back to SHIELD NYC HQ, from where they’d grab a quinjet and fly straight to the farm. They’d already stopped by her NYC apartment earlier, before the Avengers sent off the Tesseract and the two Asgardians at Bethesda Terrace. So she pretty much had everything she might need for her vacation stuffed in the car’s trunk now, all thanks to Mr. Zest and Gusto Hawkeye’s early wake-up call at _five-thirty_ AM this morning.

Yeah.

Thou shalt wakest up as early as _five_ fucking _thirty_ in thy goddamn day-off.

Wonder why nobody ever came up with that shit.

Probably because it was the most bat-shit fuckery in the history of fuckeries.

Seriously, she was this close to putting a bullet in the guy’s ass this morning. Look, she loved Clint and all that, but waking people up at five-thirty AM? What an asshole. With two ass holes. And possibly three if he dared come between a woman and her beauty sleep again next time.

It should be a thirty-minute drive back to the HQ, and perhaps another two hours or so for the quinjet ride. So she might be able to catch a quick nap or something. Maybe Clint could even stay quiet long enough for her to fall asleep if she was really lucky, in which case she’d be granted full salvation from having to hear all of Clint’s incessant babblings about Captain America fangirls and whatnot.

“So……” said Clint.

Well. So much for _that._  

Natasha rolled her eyes. “What _,_ Clint, **_what?_** ” she gritted out, sounding every bit snarky and cranky, exactly like what one would expect from a woman who’d been _contumeliously_ woken up at five _fucking_ thirty in the morning.

“Seems like _somebody_ had a nice cozy chat with Mister **AMERICA** just now…” Clint goaded annoyingly.

Natasha shot him a death glare.

 _One_ button. One goddamn button, and her Widow’s bite would be up and raring for some good ol’ splendiferous electrocuting. Maybe she should program an alarm clock to it, stash it under Clint’s pillow, and then revel in the satisfaction that it would shock the shit out of Clint at five _fucking_ thirty in the morning. Take _that_ , sleep wrecker.   

Clint smirked, “…Or, should I say, somebody had a massive fangirl moment back there.  _Again._ ”

Natasha’s hand _mysteriously_ ended up beneath the cuff of her leather jacket.

“Better watch it, Clint. Don’t forget I’m wearing a gun. And I'm telling you that butt cheek of yours would look really _, really_ nice with a couple more bullet holes on it.” Natasha smiled dangerously.

Clint snorted.

“Yeah. Totally scared me there, by the way.” Clint mocked. The lights turn green and Clint put the car back in gear. “So. What did you two talk about?”

_God, Clint. Seriously??! We’re doing this now?_

“ _Nothing_.” Natasha emphasized, and then she flattened her tone, “Just said our goodbyes.”

Clint hummed. “Quite a goodbye though. Fifteen minutes long. What? Did he give you a speech? Or did you guys say your goodbyes in forty different languages?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I was explaining to him the details about my _assignment,_ okay? Fury asked me to provide him with any assistance that he might need to readjust to the modern world.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Look, if you have something to say, Clint, just _spit it out._ ” Natasha snapped irately. Not that she would usually lose her temper and jump on someone’s throat like that. But five-thirty, folks. Five flipping thirty. Just try being woken up at said hour after fighting off a bunch of aliens the day before. Try it.

From the corner of her eyes, Natasha saw Clint flinch. She smiled inwardly.

_Good. Now be a good boy and just fucking drop it._

“He’s attracted to you.” said Clint bluntly. There was a slight pause before Clint went on, “But I think you already know that.”

“You don’t say.” said Natasha in a clipped tone. She turned her head away from the windshield, and stared out through the passenger window instead. From the window’s reflection, she could see Clint openly watching her, perusing her form.

“Did he ask you out?” Clint pried.

_Oh for fuck’s sake…_

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, “ _No._ Why would he ask me out? We barely know each other.”

Clint shrugged, “Just asking.”

After that, they drove in silence. It was nice. Finally some peace and quiet.

But then five minutes later, Clint went ahead and said something completely out of the blue, “I’d be surprised if he did though.”

Natasha spun around in her seat to face the archer, a frown reigned over her countenance.

“Why?” asked Natasha, her eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

“Well…because……” Clint shrugged, “he kinda thinks we’re an item.”

“Wait, _what?!_ ” Natasha scoffed, “Why the hell would he even think of the two of us as a couple?”

“Err…because I _might_ have given him that impressio-”

“OWWWW!!!!” Clint yelped loudly the moment Natasha pinched his side.

“It wasn’t on purpose!! Jesus…” Clint said, rubbing his bruised skin.

“What the hell did you say to him, Clint?”

“He asked if the two of us are going on vacation together. I said yes. And I guess he just assumed.”

Natasha snorted and shook her head.

“Hey, technically that wasn’t a lie. We _are_ going on a vacation together.”

“Yeah? Now I’m seriously reconsidering it.” Natasha said dryly.

“Nope. No can do, Nat. Too late to back out now. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Coop now, would you?”

Okay, fine. She _would_ admit to missing Little Coop just a smidge. And Laura too. And the nice, tranquil complexion back at the farm. The smell of fresh grass. The scent of wet soil. And the pancakes…Ugh. _Fine_. She missed the farm. There. She said it.

Natasha sighed faux-dramatically, “Just look how great of an aunt I am. Putting my sanity on the line just to spend time with your kids.”

Clint scoffed, “Sanity? Pfft! Bullshit! You know you love my farm.”

“The farm, yes. But you spreading false rumors about us? Not so much.”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on a sec. Why _are_  you getting so bent out of shape about this, Nat?” Clint turned his head away from the road and stared her down.

“Bent out of-" Natasha shot the archer a death glare, "What the hell are you even _talking_ about, Clint?”

“AHA…” Clint smirked before returning his attention to the road, “Did you, perhaps, _want_ him to ask you out?”

God. This was gonna be a long _, long,_ month. Weren’t there more baddies out there for her to beat up? Yeah, you know what? Screw the vacation. She’d gladly take on any mission at this point. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even mind it if her assignment was to scrub down every single toilet bowl back in the Triskelion.

“ _No_. I just…didn’t want anyone getting any wrong ideas about the two of us.” said Natasha weakly. 

Clint snorted, “Yeah, as if there aren’t already buttloads of rumors out there about the two of us.”

Natasha shook her head, but kept her lip sealed.

“You know Tasha…” Clint began, and Natasha groaned inwardly.

Natasha sighed.

_Just shut up, Clint. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT. UP._

Clint cleared his throat before he went on, “If you would just let yourself-”

“Love is for **_children_** , Clint.” Natasha interjected sharply.

“ _Hey_!! That’s _not_ true…and you know it.” Clint chided firmly.

“It’s true for me.”

“Give yourself a chance, Nat.” Clint said softly.

Natasha stared quietly out the passenger window, hell-bent on ignoring Clint’s gratuitous and superfluous love advice. She didn’t need this. Because she didn’t do love. The Black Widow doesn't do love. The Black Widow doesn't  _deserve_ love.

“I’m not asking you to go get hitched or anything……” Clint paused, “Just…give yourself a chance to be happy.”

Natasha let out a humorless chuckle.

“I know I’ll be really happy if you stop talking right about now…” said Natasha dryly.

Clint sighed, “ _Nat_ …”

“ _Fine_. Give myself a chance to be happy. Got it. Can we move on now, please?”

“Like hell we are. I’m not done yet.” Clint argued.

“Since when did you start shooting heart arrows, Clint? What. Had enough of Hawkeye? Wanna play Cupid now?” Natasha teased, clearly an attempt to throw out a red herring.

“Look, I’m just sayin’, Nat…” A pause, “You gotta…you know?” Clint shrugged, “Be open to the possibilities.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “And what possibilities might those be, I wonder?”

“Well, for _one_ , there’s the possibility that something might happen between you and the Cap-”

Natasha let out a mocking laugh, “Hah!!!! Okay. I think you’re getting _way_ ahead of yourself here, Clint. _NOTHING_ is going to happen between me and him. _NOTHING._ ”

“ _Yet._ ” said Clint smugly.

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just call it the-”

“The infallible visual prowess of the Hawk and other related bullshit. Yada. Yada. Yada. _Quality_ stuff.” Natasha mocked.

“Uh……actually, I was about to _say_ …the intuition of a married man, but hey,” Clint nodded a few times, “that works too.”

Natasha snorted, “Whatever, Clint.”

“Don’t know why, but I just have a good feeling about you two.” said Mr. Clint Barton blabbermouth. 

“Trust me, you won’t be having any good feelings for the next few hours if you don’t shut up right now.”

Thankfully, this time Clint did shut up. Pfft. If not, she would’ve shut him up anyway.  

Feeling exhausted, Natasha closed her eyes and lay her head against the headrest. For some strange and ‘unfathomable’ reason, an image of Steve Rogers’ boyish face came popping into her head.

He was just another man.

Just another man.

Just. Another. Man.

But God _damn_ it, why was she still seeing his face?

_It’s just because of the assignment, that’s all._

Yes. That must be it.

It _had_ to be.

Funny why Fury would assign _her_ to be the one to get Captain America back into the world. Wouldn’t a lower level agent be better suited for the job? Then again, those agents would probably be fawning all over the guy without actually doing-

“You know the guy was acting all worried about you yesterday, right, Nat? Like, he totally went all batshit crazy when he couldn't get you to answer your com-”

Natasha slammed the base of her skull against the head rest, hard.

“Oh my **GOD** , Clint. Just **_drive_**.”

 

*     *     *

 

It could have been hours? Or minutes? Steve hadn’t a smidge of a clue. He’d completely lost track of everything. Everything, except for that raging emptiness which threatened to consume his being.

The park was quiet. Getting a little warm now, but it was quiet. And peaceful. A nice place for a sketch, actually. 

Sounds of footsteps, both distant and afar, nuzzled his eardrums, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Occasional breezes caressed his skin whenever somebody walked past him. In the grand scheme of things, everything seemed…normal. _If_ he came from this era.

Passersby would slow down and stare at him. And those strolling in groups would sometimes whisper among themselves. One downside of having an enhanced sense of hearing is that you’d be hearing pretty much everything around you, _including_ the things that you probably don’t want (or don’t need) to hear.

He was wearing their grandpa’s clothes, they said.

Or that she wanted to ride his face. _Whatever_ the hell that meant.

Sometime amidst his trance, Steve had come to a decision. He’d decided to put forth his travel plans once and for all, no more excuses this time. He _will_ be travelling. Not to England, though. But towards the East. Yes. The East. The land of martial arts. _That,_ was where he planned to begin his around-the-world walkabout. He’d always known about the association between martial arts and inner peace. And with the latter being something that he desperately needed this time around, he thought the East might be a good place to start his journey. And besides, he kinda needed an upgrade in his combat skills anyway. After all, if nothing else, the Battle of New York had proven just out of touch he truly was. Even with the serum’s enhancements, Steve had found himself having to really exert himself during yesterday's battle.

It wasn’t until the battle of New York that the total lack of value in his existence was truly and immensely felt. Steve realized that even as a soldier, there really wasn’t much he could contribute to the world anymore. The world had flourished, it had transfigured. The world had moved on beyond him. Hell, the world had probably even evolved beyond the _need_ for him. Like, come on, they had a man in a sophisticated suit of armor who could pack at least ten missiles in his right arm. What the hell would the world need a clueless Fuddy-Duddy supersoldier for?

True indeed, Steve had assumed command during yesterday’s battle. But had he truly led well? Had he actually made the situation any better? Maybe. Maybe not. Though it certainly didn’t change the fact that they’d nearly lost one of their own yesterday under his watch. It also didn’t change the fact that if it weren’t for Tony’s selfless act, the entire Manhattan district would’ve been obliterated by a nuclear strike by now. And what did _he_ do? What the hell did Steve Rogers do, when he found out that a nuke was about to pulverize an entire city? What the hell did he do?

Nothing.

He did _nothing._

He literally did nothing.

And an even more dreaded question was: what **_CAN_** he do?

Was there anything he can do at all to stop yesterday’s nuclear strike?

Was there any feasible way at all for him to even stop that Leviathan creature, had Doctor Banner not shown up at the last minute?

Clearly, even as a soldier, there wasn’t much that Steve Rogers could bring into today’s world. At least not in his current state.

Steve felt a vibration in his leather jacket.

_“The star spangled man…with…a plan…”_

Steve smiled, not even caring anymore whether if anyone was around to hear that stupid verse. He pulled out the device and found the screen already lit. There was a huge digital clock on the screen. And directly beneath it, lay a semi-transparent white banner which said: 1 new message.

Great. Now what the hell was he supposed to do to read the message’s contents.

For a moment, Steve fumbled with the device. Yet nothing happened. Just when he was about to give up on reading the message, something else popped up on the screen. It was a…

 _Oh Jesus_ **Christ** _, Tony…_

Steve shook his head.

It was a USO show girl, in the stars and stripes costume.

 _“Touch my hand, Captain…let’s grab this banner together…”_ said the semi-nude lady on the screen.

Steve didn’t know whether to be amused, or to be utterly appalled by this so-called ‘interactive guide’.

 _“Go ahead, Captain…touch me…”_ coaxed the USO lady in a sensual tone.

Letting out a sigh, Steve brought his index fingertip onto the lady’s hand, the one which overlapped with the message banner.

Steve flinched when the screen flashed all of a sudden. The digital clock and date disappeared. Instead, the display now took the form of a rectangular block with a speech bubble on top.

_Ah. So this is where you read messages._

Steve ran his eyes across the only speech bubble available:  

> **ARRANGED FOR AGENTS TO PREPARE YOUR TRAVEL DOCUMENTS. PASSPORT AND STUFF.**
> 
> **SOME1 WILL SEND IT TO UR APARTMENT BY 2NITE.**
> 
> **N.R.**
> 
> **11:30AM, 5/5/2012**

N.R.

Natasha Romanoff.

_Wow._

Steve really had no idea what had gotten into him right then. He knew it was just a message, but at that moment, he was sitting there on his bike, just staring into his phone as if it contained the answers to some kind of cosmic secret. Oh, and not to mention grinning like a complete idiot, too. The whole experience kinda reminded him of that time when his family (when he still had one) could finally afford that big, fat turkey for Christmas. It was a wonderful feeling. In fact, he felt like this was the first genuine and relaxing smile that he’d had ever since he was defrosted.

And it felt really nice.

POP!

Another speech bubble appeared beneath the one from before: 

> **PAIN IS REAL. BUT SO IS HOPE.**
> 
> **IT’S GOOD TO HAVE YOU BACK, CAP :-)**
> 
> **BE SAFE.**
> 
> **N.R.**
> 
> **11:34AM, 5/5/2012**

Huh.

Maybe the new world ain’t so bad after all.

 

*     *     *

 

**Wednesday, 12:13AM, 13 th June 2012 (Eastern Daylight Time Zone, UTC-05:00)**

**Location: John F. Kennedy International Airport, 11430 NY, Queens, New York, United States of America**

Okay. He might have put the whole travelling-to-the-East-in-search-of-inner-peace thing on hold. Again. But this time, he swore, he had a legit and justifiable excuse. Soldier’s honor.

“Here’s your boarding pass, sir.” said the lady at the Check-In counter.

Steve stretched his hand over the counter to retrieve his passport. A slip of paper was now sandwiched between the pages of the booklet. From the part that was peeking out from his passport, Steve could make out the block letters:

AIRF

Air France.

“Please be at gate 2E at least 45 minutes before boarding time.” said the lady politely.

Steve nodded gingerly and shot the beautiful lady in front of him the Steve Rogers’ special I’m-trying-my-best-not-to-lose-my-shit-because-you’re-so-beautiful-and-you’re-standing-right-in-front-of-me smile.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Steve managed.

His voice was steady. Which was a pretty miraculous occurrence in itself, considering he’d usually just turn into a blabbering imbecile (and more recently, a dweeb who had a knack for prolonged handshakes with beautiful redheads) whenever he was within a five-foot distance from a beautiful woman. Then again, cheers to him! Because there was nothing dweeb about the way Steve was behaving now. He was grinning rather confidently. Hell, he’d even managed to hold eye-contact without hyperventilating. Hey, maybe the dweeb in him had suddenly found the icy tundra to be an agreeable dwelling place and had hence decided to take up permanent residence there?

“No, sir. Thank **_YOU_** _._ ” said the lady pointedly.

Steve’s eyes widened in alarm. His heart raced.

“Uh…ah…” Steve stammered. Okay. Maybe Stweebie-Dweebie hated the ice after all.

Stweeb cleared his throat harshly.

“Err…I beg your pardon, Ma’am?” said Steve. For a moment, he turned around to look behind him, and was relieved to find that there was no queue behind him. Which meant that no one had witnessed this oh-shit-my-disguise-had-just-been-blown dilemma that he was then facing. _Thank goodness._ Heavens forgive him, but tonight, he honestly had not the mood to deal with any superhero fanaticisms or other related shenanigans. And _no_ , he wasn’t exactly kidding about the shenanigan part. Because guess what, not one week ago, some dude had actually asked Steve to sign his butt cheek. His _butt cheek._ Call him old-fashioned and whatnot, but that’s just… _weird_. Ugh.

The lady only smiled at him amiably.

“Don’t worry, sir. I wouldn’t have called you out if I knew there were people behind you.” She said.

_Okay, what?_

“Uh…?” Again, with the star-spangled dweebiness.

At Steve’s confusion, the lady’s face broke out into a full grin.

“I know you’re avoiding the attention…” she gestured around Steve’s head, “I mean, with the disguise and everything.”

Steve laughed and nodded.

_Smart lady._

Steve stole a quick glance at her name tag. _Miss…Savannah._

“Thanks…” Steve said dryly, “Uh…Wait, so you mean you’re thanking me because I wore a disguise, Ma’am? Was that the reason?” And then Steve flashed his boyish grin, “Ah…Makes sense I suppose. If I didn’t wear one, I imagine it would be _quite_ a queue at this counter. Pretty sure you won’t appreciate that.”

Miss Savannah chuckled, “No. That’s not it.”

“Then to what do I owe your gratitude?” asked Steve.

“As if you don’t already know…” Savanah scoffed.

“Well…” Steve shrugged and let out a sad chuckle, “It won’t exactly be the first time people label me as naïve and clueless…so…”

Savannah smiled incredulously. 

“You guys saved New York, Mr. Rogers. All six of you. I’m thanking you for that.”

Okay, maybe he should _really_ start working on getting used to all the attention that people seem to be so keen on giving him. It was fine at the beginning: no one seemed to recognize him the first few weeks after he got out of the ice. Hell, he was literally prowling along the streets in his old plait shirt and khakis during that time, yet nobody recognized him. Gave him strange looks, yes, but none seemed to have recognized him as the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. But after the Battle of New York a month ago? Well. Hah. Let’s just say that things got a little bit _too_ exciting. To be honest, it reminded him a little of his USO Tours back in the day. The endless, unwanted attention. Ugh. Too bad Steve didn’t have Loki’s delusions of grandeur or Stark’s massive ego. Those two would’ve thrived under the spotlight.    

Steve had put in quite some effort on his disguise before he left for JFK. Baseball cap, sunglasses and all that. Then again, regardless of the disguise, Miss Savannah still would’ve recognized him anyway, since he’d literally just handed over his travel documents to her not 5 minutes ago.

Steve smiled back.

“It’s no problem, Ma’am. Just doing my duty. And besides, we didn’t do it alone. The army, the cops. Rescue officers. They all played a part.”

“My husband was there, you know. And you saved his life.”

“Oh…” said Steve, mildly surprised.

He couldn’t possibly know who the husband was, really. He knew he saved a _lot_ of lives that day.

Miss Savannah quickly clarified, “He was in a bank? And the aliens attacked? Then you swooped in…and did your badass thing.”

A look of recognition crossed Steve’s visage. “Oh, right. Yeah. I do remember that bank. But I don’t think I’d recognize your husband though…There were a lot of people in the bank.”

“Oh I think you do. He told me you spoke with him briefly.” Miss Savannah said as she tapped on her phone, “Here. That’s my husband, Jack.”

From the screen, Steve saw a man in a crisp business suit.

Another look of recognition formed on Steve’s face, and he nodded, “Ah. Yes, Ma’am. I remember him.” Steve smiled, “Brave man, your husband.”

Miss Savannah raised a perfectly drawn brow, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, you see, before the aliens attacked, I brought an injured man to that bank. And when I got there, I asked for volunteers to help carry the injured man down to the basement with them. Only three men volunteered. Your husband was one of them. The rest were too scared to come out of hiding. I’m surprised that he didn’t tell you.” said Steve.

“I think that’s just because he couldn’t shut up about meeting Captain America face to face.” said Miss Savannah dryly, “Trust me, that’s _all_ he talks about these days.”

Steve laughed, “And now I met his wife. What a small world, huh?”

“Well. I should get back to work, Captain. It’s nice meeting you. And thanks again for, you know, Jack.”

“It’s nice meeting you too, Miss Savannah. Take care.” Steve nodded and left.

 

*     *     *

 

The security was quite a hassle, but considering how Steve had sat through the full three hours of SHIELD’s PE after he was defrosted? Yeah, he could definitely tolerate the slight hassle of airport security, no problem.

His phone pinged from inside his leather jacket.

Yes, it was a simple ping now. The first thing he did after he’d learnt how to operate the device: changing that stupid alert tone Tony had preset the device with. Okay, actually, no, that wasn’t exactly the first thing he did. The first thing he did was (newsflash, people) sending a text message to a certain redheaded SHIELD agent, whom may or may not be the person he’d been exchanging texts with every day since the battle of New York.

Now striding along the massive lounge of JFK’s departure hall towards gate 2E, Steve pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. Unsurprisingly, her name popped up in the ‘new message’ banner.

_Of course it’d be her._

He smiled at the text message: 

> **Don’t get lost now, grandpa :)**
> 
> **12:30AM, 13/6/2012**

Continuing his strides, Steve typed out his reply and tapped send: 

> **Thanks, Ma’am. Why are you still awake?**
> 
> **12:33AM, 13/6/2012**

A couple of seconds later, the device pinged again. This time, Steve chuckled. 

> **Night's still young :-)**
> 
> **Not that an old geezer like you would understand.**
> 
> **12:33AM, 13/6/2012**

Steve smiled, and tapped out another reply. He hit send: 

> **Can I ask you something?**
> 
> **12:34AM, 13/6/2012**

Steve nearly jumped at the quick notification: 

> **Go ahead, Rogers. But if you want my current location, then, sorry. You won’t get it :p**
> 
> **12:35AM, 13/6/2012**

Steve paused in his strides as he hesitated. Should he even ask?

After a series of typing and erasing _and_ retyping, Steve finally hit send: 

> **What does it mean when someone wants to take me out for a ride?**
> 
> **12:37AM, 13/6/2012**

Shutting off the screen, Steve resumed walking again. Phone in hand, he anxiously awaited the redhead’s reply. That question had been gnawing at him for a while now. See, he was just about to walk through JFK’s front entrance when some random lady stalked up towards him and asked him that question. Obviously, Steve didn’t think that the question meant what it was _supposed_ to mean. Pfft, it was the lady’s intonation that gave it away. It was, for the lack of a better term, _inappropriate._ Yeah, and given how sexualized the 21 st century was, God forbid it might be some sex thing.  

The device pinged loudly. Steve lifted it up and swiped at the screen: 

> **OH. MY**.  **GOD.**
> 
> **Who asked you that???? (o_O)**
> 
> **12:40AM, 13/6/2012**

Okay. _Definitely_ a sex thing.

Steve felt a blush creeping up his cheeks, he pocketed his phone and picked up his pace, almost brisk walking now. It was a little appalling how…liberal…modern people were about sexual issues. Hey, just to be _clear_ , he wasn’t at all the type to preach about things like sex-after-marriage and whatnot. He was perfectly fine with premarital sex. But at least back in his day, people just weren’t _this_ open about their sexuality. Well. Guess that’s another thing about the modern world that he seriously needed to get used to.

Realizing that he hadn’t replied to the text, Steve quickly pulled out his phone again and began tapping his fingers on the screen. Great, now he wasn’t even sure what to reply. Maybe he should just-

SMACK!!!!

Courtesy of his superhuman reflexes, Steve managed to prevent a middle-aged man (whose shoulder he had just rammed into) from falling flat on his ass. The box which the man had been carrying, however, hadn’t such luck. It toppled onto the ground with a loud thud.

“Jesus. I’m so sorry, sir. Are you hurt?” Steve asked as he righted the man’s figure.

The middle-aged man with blonde hair shook his head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

Steve bent down and picked up the box along with the man’s fallen boarding pass.

“It’s my bad, sir. I wasn’t looking.” said Steve apologetically.  

The man laughed, “Don’t worry, son. Clearly, I wasn’t looking too. Or else I wouldn’t be stupid enough to run into you. I mean, _damn_ , man. You’re _strong._ ” The man punched lightly at Steve’s shoulder, “What are you made of? Steel?”

Steve chuckled, “Flesh and bones, sir. Flesh and bones.”

Feeling a little self-conscious, Steve readjusted his ball cap with his free hand. Well, in hindsight, that move was probably a mistake.

The other man’s eyes widened in realization, “Hey…aren’t you that…?” He raised his finger to point at Steve, “Oh, man, you’re…”

In an instant, Steve’s countenance went from guilt to alarm.

_Shit._

So much for disguise.

But moments later, the initial shock from the man’s expression subsided, and was replace by a look of sympathy and understanding. The man raised his palm and smiled, “Don’t worry. I won’t make a fuss. I can see that you want your privacy.”

Instant relief flooded Steve’s veins, “Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

Steve sighed.

“Oh! Here you go.” Steve held out the man’s box, guilt pierced through Steve’s core once again, “Again, I’m so sorry about this. I hope there nothing fragile inside this thing. It took quite a tumble just now.”

“Relax, son. It’s just books.” The man reassured.

Steve held out the boarding pass next. But not before Steve’s eyes caught the same Airline logo printed on top.

_Air France. Flight 23._

“We have the same flight, sir.” said Steve, his tone amused.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, look.” Steve took out his own boarding pass from his pocket and held it out, “Air France? Flight 23? To Paris?”

“Right. That’s mine too.” said the man.

“What a coincidence, huh?” said Steve.

“Indeed. But…” All of a sudden, there was a strange look of confusion on the man’s face, “You’re headed to the gate, right?”

“Um…yes?” said Steve.

“Then why are you walking in this direction. Gate 2E is that way.” said the man, pointing at somewhere behind Steve.

“What?” Steve swirled around and looked up at the sign boards.

_Gate 2K._

Oh, _great_. He’d been too busy texting with a certain redhead to notice that he’d long since walked past his intended gate.

“It seems I’ve walked past it.” said Steve sheepishly.

“Well, then. Shall we?”

“Yes, sir. And hey, let me carry that for you. It’s the least I can do after what happened earlier.”

 

*     *     *

 

The two men sat at an unoccupied waiting bench at Gate 2E. The gate had yet to open, since they were about 2 hours early.

“So are you French?” asked Steve.

“Yes.”

“Right. So, this a return trip, then?”

The man nodded, “I’m here on business. Been away for 2 weeks now. Miss my kids at home.”

The mention of family brought a heavy tug on Steve’s chest. Again, it’d reminded Steve of what he’d lost. Steve stamped it down. He didn’t need this crap tonight. Well, he didn’t need this crap, _ever._

“What about you, Captain? This your first trip to France?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Vacation?”

“Um…” Steve thought for a moment, and then he shook his head a little, “No. Not really.” Steve smiled, “It’s a wedding of…well…I guess you _could_ say of an old friend.”

All of a sudden, the man’s jaw dropped open in astonishment. Comprehension came to Steve only a few seconds later: it wouldn’t make sense that _his_ old friends would still be alive _and_ getting married.

Steve clarified, “Oh, it’s actually a family member of an old friend. It’s uh…well.” Steve cleared his throat, “The grandson of one of my commandos is getting married. And I was invited.”

See? He didn’t lie. Legit excuse for his change of travel plans.

A look of understanding washed over the other man’s face, “Jacques Dernier?”

“How do you…” And then it clicked, Steve nodded, “Right. Jacques is the only French member of the Howling Commandos.”

The other man smiled, “Don’t even ask me how I know. My daughter just wouldn’t shut up about you, or anything that’s related to you, for that matter. She’s a big fan.”

Steve chuckled sheepishly, not knowing what to say to that.

“Um…hey, Captain. Actually, I have a request…but I hope it’s not too much to ask.”

Steve gave it a moment of thought. “Well, I’ll oblige as long as you’re not asking me to sign your behind.” said Steve.

The other man burst into a fit of laughter, “Seriously? That actually happened?”

“Yep.” said Steve, shaking his head in disgust.

“In that case, you don’t have to worry. I assure you, Captain, I have higher self-dignity than that.”

Steve chuckled, “Well then, go ahead, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“It’s just…” The man took out his wallet, and from inside the wallet, he procured a photograph, “It’s my daughter’s birthday today…wait, is it time yet?” The man flicked a glance at his watch, “aha, it’s past twelve now, so yeah it is. Plus it’s six hours ahead in Paris, so…… _Anyway._ It’s her birthday. And since she’s such a big fan, and by some incredible good fortune, I happen to run _into_ you, quite literally, so, I thought maybe I could get her your autograph or something. Here.” The man held out the photo to Steve, “You can sign your name behind this photo, if you don’t mind.”

Reaching out, Steve took the photograph and allowed himself a glance. There in the photograph, staring right back at him, was a beautiful girl in a black dress. The girl looked young. Very young. Probably in her mid-teens if Steve were to guess. And she had a full head of long and thick blonde hair. She was looking straight into the camera with a bright and joyous smile plastered on her face.

Wow. That smile. It would light up the entire goddamn place, wherever this girl is.

 _So this is what happiness looks like, huh?_ Steve thought. He wondered if he would one day find a reason to smile like that.  

The girl had stunning features: sharp and defined jawline, a row of perfect white upper teeth, and a pair of beautiful lips. And that smile of hers? It nothing but accentuated the girl’s beauty. Her smile brought out everything. It made her face glow.

The most striking aspect of the girl’s appearance, however, was her eyes: a pair of dark and ebony eyes. Sharp and piercing, and _brilliant_. So full of _life_ and _vibrant_ energy. Till then, Steve had only known two other women with such beautiful eyes. Peggy was the first. And then more recently, Natasha. Now, the count just went up to three, for Steve was beyond sure that this girl’s eyes were in the same league.

_She’s beautiful._

“This is her, right? Your daughter?” asked Steve.

“Yes.” said the man.

“How old is she?” asked Steve, but a quick moment later, he added, “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Well, it’s her sixteenth birthday today. So you could say she’s sixteen.”

Steve shook his head in awe, “She’s beautiful…” He complimented, “Bet she’ll grow up to be a total heart breaker.”

The man snorted, “Captain. She **_already is_** _._ You have no idea how many dates she’d turned down over the years.”

Steve laughed a little, “Of course. Understandably so. She’s a total beauty.”

“So I’ll take that as a yes on the autograph?” asked the man hopefully.

“No.” Steve shook his head and watched the other man’s face fell.

“Because I’ll do you one better.” said Steve with a smile.

The man’s face brighten up again, “And what might that entail?”

“I’ll sketch her, sign my autograph behind it, and include a birthday message.”

 

*     *     *

 

The sketch took about twenty minutes to complete. And _boy_ , it felt good to sketch. It’d been a while since he’d had a really good sketch. The last sketch he made was the one featuring Stark Tower. He did that one while he was sitting at some random café down Park Avenue a day before the Chitauri attacked.

The girl’s father was talking on the phone some twenty feet away. Steve had wanted to show the man the sketch first before adding the autograph, to see if the man would approve. But then again, Steve would go out on a leg to say that he did a pretty great job on this sketch. The colors, the blending, and the balance; all of them were done well. Overall, Steve had a good feeling about the sketch.

Pulling back slightly, Steve scrutinized his artwork once more.

Staring back at him was a beautiful girl.  

Yeah……definitely a good feeling.

It just felt… _right._

All of a sudden, his phone pinged. Uh-oh. He just remembered that he hadn’t replied to Agent Romanoff’s text from earlier. Fumbling around in his pocket, Steve pulled out his phone and activated the screen. He nearly choked on his own saliva at what he saw: 

> **Rogers? Didn’t get lost now, did you? Or... wait a minute...**
> 
> **Did you actually take up that offer for a ‘ride’???!!**
> 
> ***gasps* Oh, _Rogers_ …you _dog…_ ;-)**
> 
> **1:08AM, 13/6/2012**

Blushing, Steve hurried out a reply: 

> **No, Ma’am. I did _not_ get ‘ridden’. I was sketching. And shouldn’t you be sleeping now?? It’s late.**
> 
> **1:08AM, 13/6/2012**

Steve put the phone away and returned to his sketch.

“Wow…” The girl’s father interrupted, having finished up his phone call.

Steve smirked, “I take it you approve, sir?”

“Very much so. My daughter would be absolutely delighted. Look, I can’t thank you enough for this, Cap.”

“You’re welcome.” said Steve as he flipped over to the back of the sketch. In every sketch he made, he would always sign off at the back and then add in the date on which the sketch was completed. But in this case, he would have to include a message to…huh. What was the girl’s name again?

“Who should I make it out to?” asked Steve.

For a moment, the man hesitated, “Err…Good question. You see, the thing is…my daughter’s first name comes in _two parts._ ”

Steve raised a brow.

At Steve’s confusion, the man laughed.

“It’s like this. Her mother and I, we each have a preferred first name for her.” The man chuckled, “But we couldn’t come to an understanding. So we ended up naming her using both of our choices.”

“So you mean her first name consists of two names joined together?” Steve asked skeptically.

“With a hyphen in between, yes.”

Steve laughed, “Hah. Okay. Then should I just use the combined name, then?”

“Oh, no, no. She really hates that name.”

“Umm, then how about we use _your_ contribution to her first name? I mean, since you’d be the one giving this to her anyway.”

“Ah. That’s a good idea. Then, in that case, it’s zhaaan.”

Steve’s brows pinched tightly, “Uhh…sorry, sir.” Steve chuckled and shook his head, “I don’t think I know how to spell that.”

The man slapped his forehead, “My bad. That’s the French pronunciation for it. It’s spelled as J-E-A-N-N-E.”

Steve nodded, “Right. I see.”

DING!! Steve’s phone chimed.

“Excuse me.” Steve said, reaching inside his leather jacket for his phone. The other man nodded.

Steve pulled up the text: 

> **But gramps...you haven’t even read me my bedtime story yet…**
> 
> **Boo :’(**
> 
> **But that might just be ur dementia acting up.**
> 
> **So, I 4give u :-)**
> 
> **Anyways. G9, gramps. Zzzzzzzz.**
> 
> **1:16AM, 13/6/2012**

Steve grinned and put his phone away. Steve found the other man studying him.

“Girlfriend?” asked the man.

Okay _._ He _seriously_ needed to stop smiling like that whenever he thought about Natash – ahem, about Agent Romanoff.

“No. Just a friend.” Steve cleared his throat, “Hey, uh…just give me a sec. I’ll leave my message behind this sketch, and then it’s all done.”

The man nodded, “Take your time.”

With a pencil, Steve wrote at the back of the sketch:

  _To: Miss Jeanne from Paris_

 

_May you be blessed with the best of health and the happiest of days._

_You have a beautiful smile._

_And I hope you’ll one day find the reason to smile for the rest of your life._

_Happy Birthday._

 

_From: The Star Spangled Man with a Plan._

_Date: 13 th June 2012 _

 

* * *

 

  **MICHELANGELO**

 

 **Tuesday, 10:13AM, 18 th September 2012 (** **Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

**Location: The Outsiders, Central Wakanda, Wakanda, Africa.**

Adanna Nkululeko rubbed her shaky hands together. Whether in anticipation, fear, or nerves, she knew not. And cared not. Because finally. FINALLY! _FINALLY!!!_ Finally, this day had come! The D-Day. Or, if everything went according to plan, Michelangelo’s birthday!!

Woohoo! Woohoo! Woo-

Ugh. Now she felt like throwing up her breakfast. Ugh. Okay. She might have just regurgitated a little.

Uh-oh.

“Blergh!”

Empirical discovery of the day: stomach acid tastes awful!

Adanna frowned and reached for the glass of water beside her laptop.

_Breathe, Adanna. Breathe._

Slamming the glass back down onto the table, Adanna stood up, and began pacing the floor. She felt agitated. And edgy. And _neurotic_. Like there were trillions of butterflies flitting across the interior of her stomach cavity in tandem, stirring up a tornado with their wings _._ To her, that was how it always felt like. The nerves. The unease. The trepidation. The fear.

_Exhale. Whoosh. Deep breath in. Breathe out. Whoosh._

STEP. STEP. STEP. STEP. She stopped inches away from a wall. Tugged at her hair, and turned around. And started pacing again.

STEP. STEP. STEP. STEP.

_It’s gonna work…It’s gonna work...It **will** work…_

_Will it?_

_Ugh! I don’t know!_

_Maybe it will?_

_What if I’m just too stupid to make it work? Mr. Stark probably could’ve done it all with one eye closed._

_Yeah…maybe I’m just too stu-_

THWACK!!

Adanna yelped the moment she felt a sharp pain coursed through her left knee.

 _Oww…_ That stung. Bending down, Adanna rubbed furiously at her sore knee.

Stupid table.

And stupider Adanna for banging knee into leg of stupid table.

Yeah, that’d probably leave another bruise. But at least the pain took away the heebie-jeebies for…a while…? Or did it? Uh…hmm. Nope. It most definitely did not.

Adanna went back to pacing again.

_I’ve rewritten and optimized the texture mapping and bump mapping algorithms…_

_Fixed the codes that was supposed to implement the rendering equation, too…_

_I’ve tested everything. So, by right, it_ **should** _work…_

Right?

But hadn’t she thought the same last time, and yet it turned out in the end that _nothing_ worked?

Ugggh!!!!!

Being a nervous wreck at 10AM in the morning. Check. Pacing around the room like a caged animal, or rather, like a bull in a China…uh… _African_ shop. Check. Obsessive-compulsive hair pulling and finger biting. Check. Three for three. Congratulations, folks. You’ve just stumbled upon the very definition of Adanna Nkululeko’s life. 

She paced some more.

_I’m nervous. I’m nervous. I’m nervous. I’m nervous. I’m so nervous. I’m so nervous._

God!! She was nervous!!

Why on Earth was she so nervous? It wasn’t even the end of the world or anything, right?

Then again, _of course_ she’d be nervous, considering how utterly invested she had been with regards to the entire process of developing her own digital sculptor, Michelangelo. It’d been nearly three years now. Three years, since she’d first embarked upon this epic quest to forge the perfect amalgamation between science, mathematics and art. Three years, since the day she wrote down the first line of Michelangelo’s source code. Three long years. And yet, now, when she had _finally_ reached the point where she could put to test, once and for all, the functionality of her own creation, she actually found herself to be _hesitating_. Hesitating: that typical, want-to-know-and-at-the-same-time-don’t-want-to-know type of hesitation. The kind of irrational, _foolish_ , quasi-perpetual, and fear-induced indecisiveness which is probably the root of all inefficiencies that ever existed in the Universe.

It all started yesterday morning, when Adanna experienced a sudden, but welcomed, upsurge of insight. She had an epiphany. Not those random and insignificant flashes of perspicacity into some trivial trumpery from TV, of course. Instead, it was _that_ , type of epiphany. Oh, you know, _that_ type? The eye-opening-running-down-the-streets-buck-naked-screaming-EUREKA type? Yeah? It’s that same feeling you’d get when a million lightbulbs light up in your head all at once, and then all of a sudden you just see everything. It’s the kind of situation that would make you feel both elated and… _angry_ at the same time. Elated because you finally see it. And angry, because you’d realize just how appallingly stupid you’ve been for _years_. Yes! Years!

Now, the _stereotypical_ circumstances apropos of a brilliant discovery or in this case, of the unravelling of a tough puzzle, would be such: some nerd with fuzzy Einstein-hair, sitting by her desk, staring into her laptop, all pumped-up and neck-deep in stacks of computer code, and all the while still clad in her smelly 3-day old pajama pants (yes, she did that). The reality in Adanna’s case, however, diverged vastly from that stereotype. Because guess what? The solution to the problem actually came to her when she still had a piece of dry toast clamped between her teeth and while her hands busied themselves with precise ministrations on her vibranium puzzle box (which she could now solve with her eyes closed in under ten minutes). And even more appalling was the fact that her laptop wasn’t even near her at that time!! Oh, yes. She herself was rather surprised by that too. Because she seemed to have stumbled upon the solution for a problem (which eluded 3 friggin years of her _perfervid_ brain-wrecking) not by working hard, but by being…lazy?

Hah, truly, it amazed her, how the human brain works sometimes. Definitely another one of life’s never-ending mysteries.

 _Note to self: Learn everything about the human brain._ Oh, did she ever mention before that she had accumulated a _lot_ of these mental notes over the years?  

The source of the problem, (or the bugs, as the programmers would call them), it seemed, turned out to be an erroneous implementation of the mathematical algorithm that she’d used for Michelangelo’s 3D object rendering function. In other words, she’d made a programming error. The code that she’d written did not perform the mathematical algorithm correctly. _Which_ , she supposed, would satisfactorily explain why for the past three years, Michelangelo had been converting human-based 3D models into pieces of jagged, grotesque, meat-like… _globules_ which seriously looked way more hideous than those Chitauri thingies that visited Earth a few months ago. And those Chitauri things were _hideous,_ by the way _._ Not to mention that they’d almost killed her beloved brother, so there was already a lot of hate present to blow the ugliness out of proportion to begin with. And yet she still felt that Michelangelo did worse. Imagine that.

But no matter.

No matter. Because she’d fixed it. Spent every waking hour yesterday, rewriting the code and then subjecting her work to more robust testing. And by this morning, she’d produced a working set of codes……Umm, _maybe?_ Well, it’d really all depend on today’s test results anyway. Which was why she had been so _psychopathic_ since this morning. Because it’d absolutely _crush_ her if it turned out that she hadn’t fixed the problem after all.

After three years of hair-pulling, she hoped that she finally fixed it this time. Oh, she sure hoped to dear _God_ that she did, and that this would be the final test-run ever.   

 _Only one way to find out, Adanna._ _Only one way to find out…_

In a momentary swell of steely resolve, Adanna stopped her pacing, and plopped herself back down on the swivel chair in front of the desk. Regrettably, whatever resolves she’d made just moments ago didn’t last. Dread suffused once again, and her ribcage quivered. It felt like she was drowning; drowning in the sea of dread.

Once again, Adanna sprang up from the chair in favor of pacing. If _only_ she could pace the dread away. If _only._ To be fair, the pacing did somewhat help. Probably because of better blood-circulation or something. She paced, paced and paced. Stopped in front of wall. Turned around. And then paced some more. Paced until she suddenly realized that there was actually some truth in the sea of dread analogy. Because right then, she really felt as though her body was suspended in the ocean of dread, where she had to keep pacing and paddling to stay afloat so as to not drown.

Adanna blew out another shaky breath as her butt converged with the leather clad swivel chair. Once again, her tiny palms sought out the comforts of friction. _Are you ready for your debut, Michelangelo?_  

“Only one way to find ou-” She murmured before she abruptly checked herself.

She stole a furtive glance at the office windows, and was relieved to find that the blinds were down. The door was shut too. Phew. That was close. Good thing she was sitting alone in the shop’s office right then. God forbid if Baba heard her mumbling to herself again. The last time that happened? Ugh, well, let’s just say that her baba’s sanity had seen much better days.

The incident occurred back home, roughly a month ago. That morning, she’d been brainstorming for ideas to reformulate Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity in her own terms. And she might’ve mumbled to herself just a tad, you know, as part of the interactive learning process and everything……Okay, fine, she mumbled a **_lot_**. Why Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity? Well, because of that incident in New York, obviously. Of _course_ she would want to understand the wormhole which nearly killed her brother back in New York. And Einstein’s theory happened to be the key to understanding wormholes. Anyway, her baba caught on to her little ‘soliloquy’ back then, and then he went completely _berserk_ as a result: called down a therapist, and then forced her to sit through the entire _five_ painful hours of it. Ugh. She kept telling him that therapy just wouldn’t work on her (after all, it failed to cure her nosocomephobia). But her Baba was obstinately persistent, and had even threatened to confiscate her laptop if she didn’t comply. Total count of all Adanna Nkululeko’s life woes: incremented by one.

Hey, come to think of, her parents _were_ always a little paranoid about every little thing that she did, weren’t they? Sometimes it truly felt like they were looking out for early signs of insanity in her every behavior. Almost as if they were afraid that she’d one day just…go insane or something. Did she have a medical condition that she wasn’t aware of? Was it because she was ‘special’ again? Whatever it was, she couldn’t fathom it. Clearly another mystery in this complex labyrinth called life.

Despite the vehement protests of the one trillion butterflies in her stomach, Adanna steeled her resolves and swiped her thumb across her laptop’s touchpad. And instantly, every pixel of her new Dell laptop sprang alight in a rectangular patch of vibrant colors. It was a Dell Precision M6700, her new laptop. Barely a week old, since it was this August’s release. She’d already written the installer program for Michelangelo eons ago, when she needed to conduct Michelangelo’s first test-run on an actual computer. So basically, all she needed to do now was to just run the installer program again, and the installer program would then unload all of Michelangelo’s latest codes onto her new laptop. Or, in the realm of abstract metaphors, the installer’s job was to carry out Michelangelo’s ‘parturition’.

Parturition, only if her fix _actually_ worked.

Adanna sighed.

_Courage, Adanna. Courage._

Themba had always emphasized the importance of courage. He’d always tell her that without courage, intelligence and talent would mean nothing. One time, when she was two years old, she had a brief foray into the science and chemistry of rusting. Back then, she would collect a bunch rusty nails and then she would try to scrub off the rust and grind them into powdery form. And then she’d try to burn the powder under a match just to see what color the resulting flame would be. Long story short, an accident happened, and she ended up needing a tetanus shot because of a deep cut in her index finger. But when Uncle Rafael came over to the house to give her the shot, she’d kicked up a big fuss. She’d downright refused to take the shot no matter what anybody said. Because she was scared of needles. She’d locked herself inside her room afterwards, refusing to open the door unless she was sure that Uncle Rafael had left the house. That lasted for quite a while (at least a few hours), until her forever-sneaky big brother, Themba, used the key to her bedroom and unlocked the door. Naturally, she’d still blatantly refused to take the shot. Kicking? Screaming? Scratching? Yeah. She’d pretty much done it all. But some time later, Themba came and sat down beside her. And that was the first time they had this meaningful little chat about courage. Themba told her something that day. He said: courage isn’t about the absence of fear, it is about being afraid and yet not letting your fears stop you from doing the right things.

She took the tetanus shot immediately after.

On that front, Adanna remembered something else too. It was something she’d read when she was approximately five months old. It was a small passage in the book ‘Three Famous Short Novels’ written by the great Nobel Laureate, William Faulkner. And in that book, Mr. Faulkner said something which really stuck with her over the years: **_“You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.”_**

Even back then, at barely one year of age, Adanna sort of understood what Mr. Faulkner was getting at: that it’s all about the courage in taking that first step.

It was all about that big, first leap towards one’s goals.

_So. Time to stop stalling, Adanna…_

With a sigh, Adanna pulled out a USB drive containing Michelangelo’s installer file. Right. ‘Big’ leap.

Minutes later, Adanna leaned her back against the leather of the executive chair’s backrest. She stared at the ceiling, trying everything in her power to avoid looking at the installer’s progress bar. The last time she did a test run was three weeks ago. She remembered using her own picture as the input data that time, hoping that Michelangelo could generate a 3D mini replica of herself.

Hah.

It did not go well. At all.

She ended up looking like an elongated……..sea urchin. Or a sea cucumber with thorns.

At that visual, Adanna shuddered.

 _Ugh._  

Perhaps she should utilize the free time she had now to think about the kind of input data she could use to feed into Michelangelo for this test run.

Hmm. Evidently, a simple image file should do the trick. One of Michelangelo’s most primitive features was to generate a 3D model directly from a 2D photograph after all. Well, she could always just use a photo of a random object and be done with it? But, no. She’d want to test the program’s ability to create human-like replicas, since that was the whole point of creating the program anyway.

But whose photo should she use? Her own? Or…wait.

Wait a _minute._

A fleeting realization crossed Adanna’s mind. And all of a sudden, she sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape.

Well, well, well…It seemed that Michelangelo couldn’t solve all her problems after all. Because no matter how perfect its 3D modelling algorithms were, Michelangelo still wouldn’t be of much help to produce the most intricate and detailed human features: the hair, the eyelashes, and such. Sure, Michelangelo could simulate human hairstyles on a computer screen and store that information as digital data, because she had added hairstyle samples into Michelangelo’s modelling database. But the problem remained that although they could be stored as digital data on a computer hard drive, these hairstyles couldn’t possibly be _reproduced_ via a 3D printer, at least not in a manner that could be deemed satisfactory. It was true. Regardless of how refined Michelangelo’s 3D modelling capabilities were, a wax 3D printer just _wouldn’t_ have that capacity to create anything _close_ to resembling actual human hair. Not in a million years!! Indeed, how could something made out of pure wax have features and qualities similar to that of human hair fibers? Both were fundamentally different materials to begin with, so how could they possibly have similar properties? It just wouldn’t make sense.

Adanna slumped in her chair.  

And therein lay another cluster of problems she had to solve before she could create her own lifelike wax figurines.

Adanna released a heavy sigh.

But perhaps for now she could find a model who’d look okay without hair? A bald person for instance? The following few seconds were spent brainstorming for a list of such candidates. She only had two so far: Gandhi, or Prince T’Challa.

 _Should probably go with Gandhi._ Just in case (on the off chance) that Michelangelo mucked up Prince T’Challa’s replica somehow and it turned into something ridiculously hilarious and…well, God forbid it’d be some kind of royal offense if she couldn’t be in the same room as the Crown Prince without giggling and snickering. Obviously, she could go to jail for that. So.

_Gandhi it is, then._

The installation completed successfully. And Adanna was therefore left only with the task of browsing for a high definition image file featuring Mahatma Gandhi. She pulled up the Chrome browser and went on Google Images.

 _Color or no color?_ She thought as she perused the rows of sample pictures on display.

She decided to go with color, since she wanted to test out Michelangelo’s shading and caustics algorithms as well. Five minutes later, she found a nice picture with sufficient complexity to put Michelangelo’s abilities to the assay.

Adanna felt the nerves again as she attempted to launch the newly-installed Michelangelo on her machine. She had to make several tries on the touch pad due to her overly sweaty palms. _Courage, Adanna. Courage._ She drew in a deep breath as Ubuntu loaded Michelangelo’s program files. One more deep breath. _It’s okay to fail. It’s okay if it doesn’t work. I’ll just fix it again if it doesn’t work. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine._  

She nearly flinched when the screen flashed once. For a moment, panic assaulted every fiber of her being. But then she visibly relaxed a moment later, when she realized that her laptop screen hadn’t actually flashed, it was just the color transition from her desktop wallpaper to Michelangelo’s User Interface. _Phew._ She’d be crushed if Michelangelo ruined her whole system _before_ she even began testing it.

Before she could change her mind, Adanna quickly loaded Gandhi’s image into Michelangelo. And now, she was literally one click away from Michelangelo’s first ever (potentially) successful test run.

_Here goes…_

She dragged her sweaty finger across the touchpad and clicked.

_Generating model: 1%_

ETA: 20 minutes.

Huh. How about that? The ETA had _tremendously_ improved, thanks to the super powerhouse Intel i7 3920XM processor of her new Dell. It’d take at least 2 hours on her old Dell.

_Phew. It’s done. Now I just have to wait._

A knock on the office door startled her. The door opened a second later and her Baba’s head poked in.

“Not feeding Panda today?” He asked curiously.

Adanna’s face brightened instantly at the mention of the kitty’s name. Ugh. How could she forget? Panda would always lurk around the store front at 11 AM for lunch, and 5PM for dinner. And she’d always be the one to feed it.

_But now it’s already…11:15AM._

Ugh. How on Earth did she forget…? Err… _apparently_ , by being an indecisive nervous wreck at 10AM in the morning. Right.

She stood up from the chair, trying _exceptionally_ hard not to stare at her Dell’s screen where a rough 3D outline of Gandhi could already be discerned (guess she did peek after all).

“Is it working yet?” asked her Baba.

“Don’t know yet, Baba.” She said as she pulled out a packet of Whiskas chicken from the cabinet beside the desk, “I just ran it. It’d take 20 minutes to complete.”

Adanna closed the cabinet door.

“But you’ve been in here for more than an hour already.” Her Baba eyed her suspiciously, “What were you doing all this time?”

Adanna procured the ceramic pet bowl from under the desk, “I was…choosing a sample photo to load it in.” Well, technically she didn’t lie, she _was_ choosing a sample photo to be used for the test-run, for maybe about 0.1% of the time she’d spent in the office. Details.

Thankfully, her Baba seemed pretty satisfied with her answer.

“Okay. Panda’s out front. But I think it’s losing patience.” He said and went back out into the store front. Seconds later, Adanna left the office with the Whiskas and pet bowl in hand.

Business was slow today, most probably due to the sweltering heat. Usually, there’d be a whole bunch of customers browsing through the myriad of shelves in the store at all times. But today, the store was quiet. Perhaps they needed a new line of products to kick things up a notch. And Michelangelo would be their best shot at that. Adanna made her way pass the rows of bookshelves, and headed towards the front door.

Panda lay on the patio’s concrete ledge with its body comfily sandwiched between two flower pots. A pretty good spot too, since the flowers provided much shade for the space under them. Panda’s eyes were closed. Hmm. It seemed to be napping. Or maybe it was just hungry.

_Poor kitty._

Adanna snapped her fingers at the sleeping feline.

“Panda. Panda.” she hissed sharply.

Panda’s eyes snapped open in attention. It leaped off the ledge, and began plodding towards Adanna: with its tail erected and thrusted high in the air.

She took that as a sigil of her welcoming presence.

“Lunchtime, Panda.” Adanna crooned, stroking the kitty’s head. Gingerly, Adanna set down the ceramic pet bowl and then after ripping open the Whiskas packet, she filled up the bowl with a generous serving. Out of guilt for her delay, Adanna had even poured out a slightly larger than usual portion today. She would pour some water for it too, but unfortunately, they only had one bowl. She’d usually just add water into the bowl after the kitty had licked it clean.

Adanna sat herself down on the ledge and watched Panda pig out on its meal. She’d first encountered this stray cat one fine Wednesday morning last year, just a few days before the store’s official premiere. In fact, she still remembered the exact date, thanks to her super memory: it was the 19th of October 2011. That morning, she and her Baba were at the store, prepping the store for its incoming debut.

The memories of that morning were still vivid in her mind: she remembered dropping a carton of books and making a mess before Baba grew tired of her clumsiness and delegated other tasks to her. She’d been half-engrossed with setting up the store’s computer when she detected movement from the corner of her eyes. And then she’d turned around just in time to find a beautiful, but ailing cat with black and white fur stealing towards the potted daffodils which sat on the window sill. It was, quite frankly speaking, love at first sight. Just one glance at the kitty’s sick and frail form, and her heart was moved. How could she not feed or take care of such a beautiful kitty? That morning, she fed it with water.  

She’d even begged. Begged her parents to let her keep it at the house. But her Mama wouldn’t allow it. Apparently, her Mama didn’t really like pets. Adanna would love to know why, but unfortunately, the reason for that shall remain yet another one of life’s many mysteries.

She was the one who’d come up with the kitty’s name though. Panda. Because of its black and white fur. Besides, she thought it quite fitting a name for a cat anyway: in one of her random forays into the Chinese language, she’d learnt that the Chinese word for a ‘panda’ contains two Chinese characters, the first one being the Chinese character for ‘bear’ and the second being the Chinese character for ‘cat’.

Adanna ran her fingers over Panda’s back as it gobbled down its lunch without a care for the world. The flea market grew rowdier by the second as lunch hour approached. Speaking of lunch…

“Baba! When will Mama be here for lunch?!” She hollered.

“Around one.” Her Baba said.

The response took Adanna by surprise. She looked over to the store’s entrance just in time to see one side of the double door swinging open. Her Baba walked out.

“So late??!” She asked in surprise.

Her Baba joined her beside the ledge.

“Yes, munchkin. They’ve uncovered a new location containing vibranium ore a few days ago. So your Mama has to cut her lunch hours short to oversee some things.”

_Which means there’re more vibranium in Wakanda then we initially thought. Hmm. Interesting._

“Oh…okay.”

“Why, munchkin? Hungry already?”

For a moment, Adanna’s gaze flicked to Panda, who was savoring its hearty lunch of chicken Whiskas. Her breakfast today wasn’t heavy at all, due to her being a neurotic idiot who refused to eat another piece of toast in fear of ending up with her stomach acid splashed all over the dining table.

“A little…” Adanna said sheepishly, her gaze inadvertently flicking towards Okumnandi, the food stall nearest to the Outsiders.

Her Baba followed her gaze.

“You up for some rice stew, munchkin?”

“But what about Mama?”

“Well, you can eat first. And then when Mama gets here you can either go for a second round, if you can, or you can just watch us eat.”

Hmm. That _did_ sound very tempting. She shot another glance towards Okumnandi. The stall wasn’t too busy at the moment. Just two customers in queue. The middle-aged owner lady seemed to have lost weight, much to Adanna’s amusement. Oh, and also, that tall and muscular bald man with the tattoos was there again. She’d seen the man quite often throughout the year. Every time she’d seen him, he’d always be lurking somewhere around Okumnandi. Most of the time, he’d be chatting animatedly with the owner lady. And other times, he’d be seen doing the heavy work for Okumnandi: moving heavy crates, hefting rice sacks. Guess those muscles had their uses after all. The most striking aspect about the man was still the tattoos on his arms. Striking because the tattoos were just so… _polychromatic_ (and because the man’s wardrobe seemed to only consist of singlets). She’d never gotten an up-close view before, but she could tell just from the outlines that it was a tattoo of a little boy on his left arm, and a little girl on his right arm. She always just assumed that they represented the man’s own children.

She felt a nudge on her shoulder.

“So, munchkin? Rice stew?”

“Umm…” _Ugh. Stupid indecisiveness._

As if on cue, her stomach growled loudly.

And her Baba laughed, “Guess that’s a yes.”

Adanna giggled before she nodded her head with much hunger-induced zest.

“But don’t you think you should check on Michelangelo first?”

Oh… _that._ Funny. She’d been entirely distracted from the test-run ever since she left the office. Hadn’t even crossed her mind once. But now that her Baba had reminded her of it…

Ugh.

“What time is it now?” She asked, once again feeling the rush of anticipation at the pit of her stomach.

Her Baba glanced briefly at his wrist watch. “Eleven forty-five.”

Eleven forty-five…She’d left the office at eleven-fifteen. Thirty minutes had lapsed from then. Adanna’s stomach churned in suspense. All of a sudden, the nerves recurred. And so did the butterflies: the vectors of the heebie-jeebies.

She stood up slowly. Beneath her, Panda shifted a little before it went back to its simplistic, Michelangelo-free reality of Whiskas chicken.

Adanna re-entered the store, and strode past the shelves.

At the office’s door, she hesitated.

Taking a deep breath, she pepped herself one more time.

_It’s gonna be okay._

She twisted the knob, took one step into the office, and closed the door behind her. The lights were off, so the office was slightly dark. A patch of blurred white light reflected against the leather backrest of the executive chair.

With slow and measured steps, Adanna approached the desk.

_It’s okay to fail._

_It’s okay to fail._

_It’s okay to fail._

_It didn’t matter._

_It **shouldn’t** matter. It’s more important is to enjoy the process of figuring things out._

_It’s okay even if it didn’t work._

_I’ll just have to figure it out again._

_It’s okay to fa-_

Well HE ** _LLO_** Mr. Gandhi…

 

*     *     *

 

 **Thursday, 5:20PM, 22 nd November 2012 ** **(Wakandan Time, UTC+03:00)**

“Just tell me what it is, Mama…pleaseeee???” Adanna whined, tugging her seat belt from side to side.

Her Mama laughed.

“Patience, sweetheart.” said Mama before she reached across the center console and interrupted Adanna’s game of tug ‘o war against the seatbelt, “Stop pulling at your seatbelt. Wear it properly.”

Adanna released the silver polyester webbing. It smacked loudly against her chest. She pouted, “Why can’t you just tell me, Mama?”

Mama smiled, “Because it’d ruin the surprise.”

“But…but…” Adanna sputtered, “Why can’t I know now? What difference does it make?”

“The difference _being_ ,” A slight pause as Mama shifted gears, “the fulfillment of your Baba’s _breathtaking_ proclivities towards the theatrics.”

Adanna giggled heartily. Her Mama reached over across the console and patted her head.   

“You know he always loves to surprise you, Ada. You don’t want to hurt your old man’s feelings now, do you?” Her Mama said cheekily.

“But……” Adanna trailed off.

Okay. True. She would absolutely hate hurting Baba’s feelings. Her Baba, Mama and Themba; her family, the three people she loved most in the world. The idea of anyone of them being hurt, be it physically or emotionally, would absolutely crush her. She would literally pass out, exactly like how she did during the New York incident when she’d found out that a nuclear warhead was flying towards the city where her brother was in.

But her curiosity…

Maybe there was a way for her to find out without hurting her Baba’s feelings.

The following few moments was thence spent in silent contemplation. Until she stumbled upon a Lilliputian epiphany and realized that: one’s theatrics very often pander to another’s. In which case, the obvious solution to this conundrum would be to _invent_ her own theatrics so as to ensure the fulfillment of her Baba’s theatrical inclinations. Fight theatrics with theatrics. Right? Obvious. All of a sudden, her previous contemplative mien was abandoned in favor of a frolic one. “Mama!!! How ‘bout I act surprised?! He wouldn’t even have known that you’d told me then!!” Adanna piped, and ended up bouncing up and down in her seat, with perhaps too much zest. Their poor car, ergo, resorted to dancing a reel of Patrick Swayze’s ‘Sway’.

Safe to say that nothing in this world could stymie the eight-year-old’s birthday gusto this year: not even the very _distinct_ chance of causing a car crash right in the middle of a busy Wakandan street, apparently.

“Tsk! Adanna Nkululeko!! Sit _still_.” Mama chided sternly.

Instantly, Adanna quieted down. Okay, maybe there _was_ something that could stop her overzealous curiosity after all: the use of her full name by her Mama.

“Be patient, dear. We’re almost there. Just ten more minutes, okay?” said Mama.

“Okay, Mama…” Adanna relented, figuring that the pursuit of her curiosity wasn’t worth the loss of her Mama’s affections.

Then again, one could hardly blame her for being so curious…

She’d woken up to a quiet morning. _Correction_ , she’d woken up to a quiet 22nd of November morning without birthday surprises. Which, per se, _was_ a surprise. A very curious occurrence indeed. Because this was the first time in eight years that their annual family tradition was broken. It felt somewhat strange to be honest, as if something in her life had changed, fundamentally. Well, she _was_ a year older now compared to a day ago, so that’s one obvious change. But considering the fact that Surprise-Adanna Day had been a facet of her life for the past seven years, its sudden absence naturally stirred up no less amount of yearning within her heart. Waking up to a gift-less birthday felt incredibly foreign to her, a shift into the unfamiliar. As if a fundamental part of her life was missing. It felt rather… _unnatural._

Not that she was one of those spoiled types who’d throw tantrums every time they don’t receive birthday gifts from their parents, of course. Adanna Nkululeko could do perfectly fine without birthday presents. Well, simply because materialism (and its hedonistic, sybaritic virtues) did not chime with her at all. No. To her, it had always been about feeling appreciated rather than showing off flashy gifts. It was more about being able to shut out the scornful looks and the judgmental comments that other people often made behind her back, and to just feel appreciated _while_ being her true self. It was about being reminded that there were people in the world who genuinely loved her for who she was. In other words, it was about the _people_ and their gestures, not the things. It was never about the things. Although she most certainly wouldn’t mind having a good book or two. Or maybe a puzzle box. But trust her, she wouldn’t have taken any damn gifts from that mean boy next door, even if the gift was an ultra-powerful supercomputer with 40 Petaflops of processing power (she could’ve gained access to Wakanda’s supercomputer herself with a simple hack anyway).

She had gone about her morning pretty much as usual: silently munching her toast while deeply engrossed in a bigger-than-her-head textbook on Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity. And when her parents had made no mentions whatsoever on any birthday surprises by the time the table was cleared, she’d sort of just assumed that her parents had forgotten about her birthday this year. It still felt a little strange, but she was okay with it. She knew how busy her parents were with their respective jobs this time around.

After Mama had left for work this morning, she’d followed Baba to the store as usual.  

And at the store, apart from some minor tinkering with Michelangelo, she’d spent most of her time emulating Einstein’s brilliance, trying to re-derive Einstein Field Equations in her own original way. The morning had passed by without much doing. She’d made a little bit of progress with Einstein, and perhaps generated a few extra 3D models to further test out Michelangelo, but that was pretty much it. Nothing too eventful. And again, Baba hadn’t made any allusions whatsoever about her birthday surprise, which further reinforced her suspicion that her parents might’ve really forgotten about it this year. That was until lunch time, when Aunt Halima (whom she hadn’t seen since Baba started the business; they didn’t need a nanny anymore now that her Baba was self-employed) suddenly dropped by the store. Her Baba had told her that Aunt Halima was there to take her home. But when she insisted that she’d rather stay at the shop, Baba had told her to stay home with Aunt Halima and wait for Mama to come pick her up. When she’d demanded for a reason, that was when she saw that familiar twinkle in Baba’s eyes, the one he’d always have when he was planning something.

Baba had told her that he was preparing for her birthday surprise, and that Mama would be home this evening to drive her to the store.  

Mama came home around 5:15PM. And now, here they were, in the car on their way to the store.

The remainder of the trip was spent in silence. But Adanna’s anticipation buzzed to life once the flea market came into view.

“We’re here, sweetie.” said Mama after they pulled into the parking lot, but Adanna was already unbuckling her seatbelt.

Minutes later, she and her Mama were walking hand-in-hand through the idle, nearly-deserted flea market. Unlike the archetypal flea markets, the one they had here didn’t cater night businesses. Usually, the market clears out as early as 5PM.  

The pair walked past dozens of empty stalls, paying heed to avoid stepping on the gross-looking gunk strewn all over the place. Case in point: Adanna had narrowly avoided slipping on a head of a dead duck while walking past a meat stall.

The Outsiders was located at the very end of flea market. It was a relatively large single-story chattel house. One of the flea market’s stall owner used to lodge there until he’d gotten too old to run his stall. He’d hence sold the house to Baba, and they had since turned the building into a business establishment.

The entire flea market area was a rectangular region bounded by four streets. The Outsiders and the parking lot each occupied the opposite ends of the rectangle (the shorter sides), whereas the remaining two sides were both fenced. Over all, a strategic place to open a store. But not so much of a place for meditation and scientific pursuits since the hubbub in the area could get pretty loud during peak hours.

All the stalls were now closed. Well, all except for Okumnandi, judging from the faintly detectable aroma of rice stew and fried bean cakes. Okumnandi was just preparing to close, as it appeared. But the owner lady was nowhere to be seen. Only Mr. Tattoo was there cleaning up the stall. Adanna’s eyes sought out Mr. Tattoo’s tattoo as they walked past, but unfortunately, his sleeves were covered today. So he _does_ own clothing of the non-sleeveless variety after all.  

Moments later, Adanna pushed open their store’s double doors, and instantly, she felt the soothing drafts from the store’s AC hitting her face. She held the door open for her Mama and then closed it once they were both in the building.

Baba was nowhere to be found, and the office blinds were drawn. From the little crevices between the blinds, Adanna discerned strips of luminescence. The office lights were on, which meant that her Baba was probably hiding somewhere in the office.

All of a sudden, the door to the office opened, and her Baba stepped out.

“Ah. There’s my little Leona!”

Leona. Right. That was her Baba’s latest moniker for her, by the way. Admittedly, the birth of that moniker was partly her own doing. Two months ago, she’d decided to venture into the realm of fine arts and painting. At the outset, she thought of just doing it for the sake of making her wax figurines. Michelangelo only sculpts and molds, after all. Other things such as the color works or the hair insertions still had to be done by her own two hands. So like it or not, she still had to learn the basics of art if she were to be able to do those. There was some hesitance at first, because, well, it wasn’t exactly her field of interest. But surprisingly, after a while, she’d actually found herself warming up to the activity. In fact, she found the activity quite…liberating. It made her feel unbounded and… _unshackled;_ as if she had all the freedom and capacity to express her thoughts and emotions. However, she later found out that not only did she _enjoy_ doing art, but that she also had quite a knack for it. Indeed, once she’d picked up the basics, she felt like everything she’d learnt just… _flowed_ naturally out of her. It felt like she’d been doing art for years now, even though she’d actually been doing it for a month. Well. She’d always thought that she was only good with numbers. Who knew that she’d have an artistic flair too! Anyway, last month, she’d proudly shown off her first painting to her parents. It was a painting which featured the Black Widow, standing on top of Stark Tower, with a scepter-like staff in her hand. It was based off a photo she had seen on a newspaper article that covered the Battle of New York. There were photos of other Avengers too, of course. But somehow only the Black Widow’s photo caught her eye. She just looked so graceful and _powerful_ in that photo. In the end, Adanna just couldn’t resist, and she ended up painting the Black Widow. Her parents were shocked, though. They both never saw it coming. Understandable, of course. Considering she’d just spent seven years of her childhood as a math nerd, only to suddenly produce a stunning watercolor painting of a beautiful woman. Both her parents had been completely nonplussed, to say the least. But once the shock passed, the praises began to trickle in. And then…the monikers. Yes, the monikers. Believe it or not, the first words that her Baba had said to her after recovering from his shock was: my little Da Vinci. And yes, that was how she became ‘his little Da Vinci’ ever since that day. And also, yes, the moniker ‘Leona’ stemmed from the ‘Leonardo’ in ‘Leonardo Da Vinci’.

Adanna giggled as she felt her feet leave the floor. And soon, she was sitting on her Baba’s shoulders, spinning in circles. Mama just shook her head and smiled at them.

Her Baba put her to the ground once again.

“So. How’s my little Adavinci today?!”

Right. There was _that,_ too. Adavinci. Another moniker. Derived from the superimposition of ‘Ada’ and ‘Da Vinci’. Goofy Baba. Always coming up with funny names to tease her.

“I’m well, Baba.” she piped.

“Ready for your surprise?”

Adanna jumped up once, “Where is it?”

For a moment, Baba and Mama shared a look, and then both of them waved her towards the office.

Adanna hesitated. “It won’t be scary, would it?”

Her parents laughed.

“No, sweetie. It won’t. Go on ahead.” Her Mama encouraged.

Taking a deep breath, Adanna pushed open the door and entered the office.

“Oh. My. God…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, folks! The third part of the "Heroes and Victims" saga. 
> 
> What did you think about this chapter? Did it make you laugh? Cry? Did you guys like it? Please let me know down in the comments below!! 
> 
> Jeanne, did you get your birthday surprise? :-) I hope you like it! Happy Birthday!


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